


Time Trap

by MiladyDragon



Series: Dragon-Verse: Post-Series Stories [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Merlin (TV), Sarah Jane Adventures, Torchwood
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Angst, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Dragon-Verse, Dragons, F/M, Future Fic, Language, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Original Character(s), Post-Series Torchwood, Reincarnation, Time Travel, Violence, perceived character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3219896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torchwood London gets a surprise...a displaced time traveller who is the double for a long dead friend.  Meanwhile, the Cardiff Hub also plays host to a visitor that is somehow linked to the man in London.  Who is he, and what does his presence mean for the timelines?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now, I know how this begins, people will be asking, "How is this the sequel to 'Decisions'?" The answer to that will make itself known, but I do like a little timey whimey and confusion...which you all know! If' you're curious about how we got to a Torchwood London, please see "A Conversation Between Two Directors" which details a few of the changes that are in this story. 
> 
> This story is "Captain America 2" compliant and "Agents of SHIELD" season one compliant, which means that SHIELD has fallen and HYDRA is out there, causing trouble. I just really touch on the HYDRA aspect of things, there are no HYDRA agents in this story except in mention. I also mention the passing of some familiar characters so please be warned, because I got a bit sad when I wrote bits of this. And yes, Clint Barton is in this as a member of Torchwood, and you'll learn why as you read. What can I say...when Ianto offered him a job back in "Ghosts of the Collider" it was just a bit of foreshadowing on my part. 
> 
> Also, this is a crossover between the Dragon-verse Post-Series and Future Adventures, but I'm adding this to the Post-Series Stories because there's more 2014 in this than 5114. 
> 
> I want to give a shout-out to totally4ryo, for making certain my timey whimey made sense. She didn't actually beta this, so any mistakes are mine alone.

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

****

Patrick Delaware was panting as he hauled ass through Hyde Park, the Serpentine on one side, and a curving line of trees on the other, his gun out and held so the barrel was pointed toward the ground.  He swiftly moved from tree to tree, across bare patches of grass, angling toward what looked like a boathouse and hoping whoever the hell was also in the park didn’t shoot him.

Their Metropolitan Police contact, Detective Inspector Anderson, hadn’t sounded the least bit happy when he’d rung up Patrick in the middle of the night to inform him that there were people shooting up Hyde Park using what looked like laser guns.  The very term ‘laser gun’ was what had gotten him out of his nice warm bed, Alice grumbling an irritated, “Bloody Torchwood,” as she stole his share of the sheets and went back to sleep. 

There were a shit-load of reasons he’d fallen for Alice.  Her near-constant irritation with all things Torchwood was, surprisingly, one of them.

Patrick put his back to a tree, trying to catch his breath.  Every once in a while he could hear the unmistakable hum of a directed energy weapon, which told him their contact had been right on the money.  One of the laser blasts had taken out a chunk of one of the trees he’d been hiding behind, coming far too close for comfort.  He tapped the comm in his ear.  “You got anything, Clint?” he whispered, knowing even that breathless question would be caught by the overly sensitive comm system.

 _“Our people have the combatants boxed in,”_ came the steady voice of Patrick’s Weapons and Surveillance Specialist, Clint Barton, from his post on the roof of the Old Police House near the centre of the park, one of the highest vantage points in the area.  _“I can make out four aggressors, and one other who seems to be hunted by the others.”_

Patrick glanced around his tree, but could not make out the house from his location.  The first thing Clint had done when the primary and secondary Torchwood teams had arrived on-site was get to the best vantage point, and Patrick wasn’t about to ask how he’d climbed the side of the Police House in order to get to the roof.  There were things a person just shouldn’t know. 

Besides, he believed Clint loved heights better than Patrick’s father-in-law did, and that was saying something.   

_“One is by that naked guy statue –“_

_“That’s Achilles,”_ Martha Jones-Milligan chided, barely covering the laugh in her voice.

_“Yeah, yeah whatever…number two is in the trees approximately fifty yards from Mickey’s position.”_

There was a click down the comm line, a silent signal from Mickey Smith that he’d heard and was aware.

_“Three is just beyond the boathouse Patrick’s heading toward.”_

Patrick looked out from around the tree, but could see nothing but the boathouse, a brilliant blue colour even in the faint moonlight at nearly three in the morning.

 _“Four is near my position, just off the walkway and in the trees,”_ Clint finished.  _“And the one they’re chasing is laying low near a bench approximately in the middle of the park.”_

“Can you take out yours, Clint?”  Patrick murmured.

 _“Shouldn’t be a problem.  I doubt he even knows I’m up here from the way he’s squatting by his cover.”_ There was a moment of silence; Patrick could imagine Clint setting an arrow to his bow string and pulling it taut, ready to fire.  _“Give the word.”_

“Do it.”

There was another moment of silence, and the Clint was cursing a blue streak into the comms.

“What is it?” Patrick demanded, stiffening.  “Clint, report.”

 _“The bastard just vanished!”_ Clint exclaimed, still managing to keep his voice down.  _“I hit him in the shoulder, and he was going down when suddenly there was a white light and he was gone.  I don’t know if he exploded or if it was something else.”_

 _“There wasn’t any sound of an explosion,”_ Josh Gates said.  _“I’m in the trees near Clint’s position and I saw the light too, but no noise.”_

 _“It must have been an implosion, then,”_ Luke Smith cut in, from where he was set up in one of their SUVs, monitoring from outside the park.  _“Any noise would have been sucked into the event horizon –“_

 _“I do hate to correct you,”_ the calm tones of Mr Smith, the supercomputer that Sarah Jane Smith had built and Luke had inherited, _“however, there was a surge of temporal energy in the exact moment that Mr Barton saw the so-called explosion.  I postulate that the assailant, having been injured, simply returned to their own time in order to protect themselves.”_

Time travel.  Lovely. 

“Clint, guide us in,” Patrick ordered.  “Two-on-one, people.  Take them down any way you can.”  They couldn’t allow time travellers any chance to mess with history.

_“Copy that.  Mickey, Clyde is on your six.  Clyde, if you move twenty feet to your left, number two will be between you and Mickey.”_

There was another answering click on the line, and Patrick was once again amazed at just how quiet Clyde Langer could be when he wanted to.  Not that he wanted to often…

_“Martha, you’re closest to Patrick.  Make your way toward him, about thirty-five yards to the south.  Number three is on the move, but he’s going to pass Patrick’s position from enough distance he won’t see him.  You can get in front of him if you hurry.”_

_“Copy that,”_ Martha answered quietly.

_“Josh, Tom…you have number one.  You’re both quite a distance and it’s all open ground, but you can intercept him if you leave your positions now.”_

_“Which way?”_ Tom Milligan asked.

_“He’s moving in nearly a straight line toward the bench where their prey is hiding.  I don’t know if he realises whoever it is is actually hiding there, but you’re not going to make it before he gets there.  Tom, head south-east; Josh, you’re going to go a little more east than south.”_

“We need someone on the non-combatant,” Patrick said.  “Tish, you and Eion see if you can give whoever it is some form of cover.”

He got several versions of _“Copy that,”_ over the comms just before he noticed a shadow heading away from him, and Patrick knew that was his target. 

He pressed his back against the tree, gun at the ready, waiting for the person to get a bit past him before moving in on their rear.  He moved as silently as he could, knowing that while Martha was good, he was better at the stealthy stuff and the stranger would notice her first.  Patrick wanted to be in position in case whoever it was fired. 

Suddenly, there was the high whine of a laser discharging, and the twin barks of two guns going off.  Judging from the sound of the weapons Patrick knew it was Clyde and Mickey making their move.  Seconds later, Mickey was on the comms reporting that their opponent had vanished like the one Clint had wounded.

Patrick’s prey had started at the noise, and had begun running forward.  However, Martha was suddenly in his way.

Martha always insisted on carrying a stun gun instead of a regular weapon.  Patrick knew it was a holdover from her time with the Doctor, who didn’t believe in using deadly weapons, and if she wasn’t Martha Jones-Milligan he’d have been afraid for her safety.  But she was the Nightingale, the woman who’d walked the world in order to save it, dodging eerie metal balls and hunting parties using only her wits and the help of a certain dragon. 

Not that Patrick had any first-hand knowledge of that, since he didn’t remember any of it, but he’d read the reports and had personally trained Martha in self-defence, so he knew very well that she could take care of herself.

Their target stopped in their tracks, raising one hand with a strange, bulbous shadow in it, which Patrick knew had to be yet anyone energy weapon.  He called out to draw their opponent’s attention, causing them to spin in place.

And that gave Martha the opportunity to dart forward and use her stun gun.

The being jerked, and then is a sudden flash that had be exactly what the others had seen, the stranger vanished.

Patrick knew at this rate they wouldn’t be getting anyone to question, but he figured as long as they were back where they belonged by the end of the night it would put this firmly into the win column.

“Ours is gone,” he reported.  “We’re fine.”  Martha nodded to confirm his words.

It only left Josh and Tom.  They’d had the farthest to go, so it wasn’t a surprise to have not heard from them yet.  Patrick headed toward the area of the park where the person these strangers had been chasing was supposed to have hidden themselves; he knew Tish and Eion could handle anything that came their way, especially since Josh and Tom were running toward the same area.  Chances were they’d meet up and take care of business.

Patrick ordered everyone to rendezvous there anyway.  Although there was no telling what the supposed victim would do if they found themselves surrounded by strangers, Patrick didn’t want to risk anything happening to either his team or anyone who happened to be innocent of what was happening around them. 

This person could have been someone trapped in the park after hours, when these time travellers had arrived and had gotten in between whatever it was that they’d had planned, or they came with the others, and had been brought against their will.  Whoever this was hadn’t acted violently…yet.  They were going to give them the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.  Patrick didn’t want to be responsible for hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it.

And it seemed like the gun-toting time travellers did, indeed, deserve it.

 _“Damnit,”_ Josh panted across the comm, _“ours rabbited.  Just saw the lightshow.”_

Patrick cursed as well, but as long as they were gone he could call it a good thing.

 _“We have the victim,”_ Tish Jones reported.  _“He seems fine, but he won’t let us approach.”_

 _“Not surprising,”_ Eion Gwynne put in, his Welsh accent a counterpoint to Tish’s London one.  _“I’d be freaked out by the whole thing, to be honest.”_

Patrick had to agree.  “Stay with him until we get there.  Talk to him; make him understand he’s not in any danger.”

“Do you see any injuries?” Martha asked.

 _“I can’t tell,”_ Tish answered.  _“He won’t let us get close enough, although he does seem to be favouring his left arm.”_

“I’m on my way,” Martha said.  “Luke, can you bring the medkit from the SUV?”

 _“On it,”_ the young man answered.

“Everyone, keep back a bit,” Patrick advised.  “We don’t want to spook him.”

There was agreement over the comms.

It didn’t take them long to get to the part of the park where their visitor had taken refuge.  It was at an intersection of several walkways, where a pair of benches had been set up near a large tree.  Patrick made out the flashlights that his team had brought with them and hadn’t turned on until the coast was clear.  They were standing far back from one of the benches, behind which a man dressed in black was crouched.  Patrick couldn’t make out anything but his clothes, since he was facing away from the team and was looking out into the park, and just from the set of his shoulders Patrick could tell the man was waiting for something.

He didn’t have long to wait.

There were several flashes, and five people dressed in oddly-matched clothing appeared, guns raised.  Patrick didn’t even have to order his team to scramble; they did it automatically, separating in order to make far too many targets.

The expressions on the new arrivals’ faces ranged from shock to anger, and they began firing almost immediately.

Patrick dove toward Martha, sending her to the ground and protecting her with his body even as he was firing his gun.  Weapons’ fire echoed his as his team went on the offensive, bullets flying toward the assholes who thought it had been a good idea to materialise in front of a heavily armed Torchwood.

And then the man in black was moving.

He tucked and rolled, coming up from his crouch to the left of the attacking time travellers.  Patrick watched as he raised his left arm, and a shimmering shield suddenly appeared, protecting his upper body as he pulled a knife from what had to have been a sheath at his boot.  He slammed the shield into one of the attackers, knocking him to the ground, and then followed up with the knife.  He didn’t manage to stab the intruder before the now-familiar white of transport carried him away from the battle.

Three of the attackers were down, two by bullets and one from an arrow, each pulling their disappearing act before any of the team could get to them. 

The shield-carrying not-so-much a victim anymore threw his knife at the last one, piercing his heart just before he, too, vanished.

Patrick finally got a good look at the man they’d helped.  He was average height, and was indeed dressed head to toe in black, from the long black jacket and high-necked shirt to the calf-high boots.  He touched something under his sleeve, and the shield vanished back to wherever it had come from, and he cradled his left arm carefully as he turned to face the team.

It was as if the entire planet had quit breathing, when in fact it was most likely only Patrick who had trouble with his respiration.

Then he realised that at least Clint would be in the same boat.

He couldn’t speak, but he heard Clint gasp, “Phil,” that single word filled with all the pain and longing that Patrick had known his friend had been hiding since that horrible day on the SHIELD helicarrier, back before the Chitauri invasion.

Because the man standing facing them was the dead ringer for Phillip Coulson…who was dead and shouldn’t be fighting laser gun wielding baddies in Hyde Park.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

 

“He really does look like Coulson.”

Patrick nodded, not turning at the sound of his father-in-law’s voice.  He wasn’t surprised that Jack had managed to sneak up on him; after all, he was the one who’d called the Director in.

The man in the ‘guest room’ had been cooperative enough to get him back to their London base, called Hub2.  It had been built up in a former warehouse that had once belonged to Torchwood One, left abandoned after UNIT had looted it in the aftermath of Canary Wharf.  It still belonged to the Institute, however, and when Jack had begun creating his new teams it had been the obvious choice to house the London branch of Torchwood.  It might still look abandoned on the outside, but inside there were state-of-the-art computers, a small archive that was storage until items could be transported to Torchwood House – and which still held scrap and other things from the abortive Dark Elf invasion last year – an armoury that Patrick was very proud of, and of course the offices and rooms where the team could sleep if needed. 

One of those rooms was where their “guest” had been settled into.  Mickey had installed a locking mechanism on the door so he couldn’t leave without any sort of warning; he might have been the victim of whatever the hell happened last night, but that didn’t mean Patrick trusted him enough to let him loose inside their base.

“He isn’t, though,” Patrick replied.  “The language thing was enough to convince us of that pretty quickly.”

The man might have resembled his Uncle Phil, may have even sounded like him in tone, but that was where it all ended.  The language he’d been speaking wasn’t anything that any of them had recognised as being from Earth.  He’d sent a sample to Cardiff, which had prompted this not-so unexpected visit from Jack Harkness.

“It’s Galactic Standard,” Jack supplied, “it’s the primary language of the Human Empire in the future.  I knew it at once.” He paused for a second, and Patrick glanced over; Jack looked slightly embarrassed.  “It’s not in Torchwood’s translation matrix, because I didn’t think it was necessary since I speak it fluently.  Which is why I decided to come down to talk to him in person.  We need to know what he knows.”

“I don’t understand,” Patrick murmured.  “If he’s from the future then why does he look so much like my uncle?”

Jack shrugged.  “Spatial genetic multiplicity?  What did the DNA tests say?”

“Martha’s still running them, but so far he’s human with some odd bits.”

“Lots of odd bits in the future,” Jack confirmed.

They both went back to watching their guest…only he wasn’t doing much of anything.  Martha had set his left arm – he had a hairline fracture of the ulna – and they’d managed to get him into a set of clean scrubs.  He had fought a little in giving up his clothes, and Patrick was pretty certain there had been some curse words involved, but in the end the man hadn’t really had a choice. 

“Luke’s got his belongings,” Patrick said.  “You want to see them before you talk to our visitor?”

“Sure, it might give me some sort of clue as to what we’re dealing with.”

Patrick led his boss out of the main area and down toward the science bay, which was Luke Smith’s domain.  Really, the best thing Jack and Ianto had done was to recruit the trio of kids that had once run with Sarah Jane Smith before she’d passed away.  Luke was one of the smartest people Patrick knew – and he knew Toshiko Sato-Swanson and had once met Tony Stark – so that was saying something special about the young man. 

Bringing on Luke, Clyde, and Rani Chandra had also given them access to Mr Smith and K-9, which was a real bonus.

The science bay was down near the archives, and was where Luke and Mickey hung out when they weren’t on mission.  The large room was brightly lit, with a genuine holotable taking up the middle of the space.  There were computer screens lining the walls and a small, crystal tree-like growth that was a direct link to the mainframe back in Cardiff, installed by Toshiko herself, as well as a miniature version of the supercomputer, Mr Smith, both taking up pride of place against the far wall.  

Luke was leaning over the table, where the items that belonged to their time traveller were laid out.  He was examining what looked like a larger version of Jack’s wrist strap, and glanced up and smiled when they entered.  “Hey!” he greeted them. 

“Luke,” Jack said, smiling.  Patrick knew that his father-in-law was particularly fond of Luke, just as he had been of Sarah Jane.  “You find anything interesting?”

“Well,” the young man began, “the clothes are a combination of natural materials and something nearly like Kevlar.”  He put the wrist strap down and reached over for the long, black coat that was draped across the table top.  “The molecular analysis isn’t quite done yet, but I’ve tested it with a few items here in the lab and it seems nearly impervious to anything I’ve tried so far.  It’s like wearable armour.”

Patrick reached over and fingered the cloth.  It felt like any normal fabric as far as he could tell.  “He moved like he knew what he was doing,” he commented idly, recalling the fight between the man and one of the assailants in the park.

“And he would be, judging by this.”  Jack picked up the large wrist strap.  “This is a portable shield generator.  Only the elite would be carrying one of them.”

“We saw it in action,” Patrick said.  “It was impressive.”

“I tried to get it to activate,” Luke admitted.  “Nothing seemed to work.”

“That’s because these things are genetically locked,” Jack answered.  “It’ll only work for the person it was programmed for.”

Luke’s eyes lit up.  “That’s brilliant!” He took it from Jack’s hand, examining it closely.  “Is it some sort of sensor inside the leather?  Or is it like the clothes, with the sensor woven through the material?”

Patrick couldn’t help but smile at Luke’s excitement.  He turned back to Jack.  “I take it that tells you something?”

Jack nodded.  “It doesn’t really narrow it down to a particular time,” he said. “The Imperial Shieldsmen were active from about the 27th century all the way to my home time.   They literally were the elite; they were the personal guards of the rulers of the Human Empire.”  He turned his gaze to the clothes, dragging the black shirt toward him.  “These,” he pointed toward the four pips on the raised collar, “are a rank insignia, although to be honest I really didn’t pay much attention to the Shieldsmen, just enough to avoid them.  I couldn’t tell you how high he was in the organisation.”

 “But he was most likely someone important.”

“I would say that’s a pretty good guess.  What weapons was he carrying?”

“There were two knives – they’re scheduled for metallurgical analysis – and an empty holster that had to have held some form of gun.  I also noticed a worn place on the belt where something seemed to hang, maybe another holster or some sort of scabbard I should say.”

“A scabbard would have fit the picture.  From what I understand the Shieldsmen did carry swords, although they were mostly ceremonial.”  Jack looked pensive. “It seems like our friend was caught unprepared by whatever happened to bring him here.”

“But is he here on purpose, or accident?” Patrick wondered.

“If I had to guess?” Jack answered.  “I’d say a combination of both.”

 

**********

 

Everyone still in the Hub2 was gathered around the monitors, watching as Jack entered the room where they’d put their guest.  Patrick had sent most everyone home after settling the stranger in; but he, Luke, Clint, and Martha had all stayed. Tom had as well, but he was currently sleeping in Martha’s office and Patrick was loathe to wake him for this since it was also being recorded.

The man, who had been lying on the bed, rose as soon as Jack opened the door.  His body language said he was wary, but at the same time he seemed almost relaxed, as if he’d been expecting someone to come in.

Maybe he had.  It only made sense that he be questioned at some point.

Jack had had Luke attach a small box to the sound controls for the monitor. Toshiko had sent it along with Jack; it was a patch to the translation matrix she’d built into mainframe, so that they could actually understand what Jack and the stranger were saying.  It was rather slapdash, she’s apologised when she’d contacted Luke to tell him how to install it; no one had thought to add Galactic Standard to the database, but Jack had been busily adding words and phrases into a handheld recorder on the flight from Cardiff to London.  The _Sky Gypsy_ had made excellent time, but then Diane Holmes was an exemplary pilot.

The man in the room spoke, and there was a split second delay before the translation came over the speaker.  _“I know you don’t speak Standard –“_

_“Actually, I do,”_ Jack answered.

The man seemed to instantly relax.  He slumped back down onto the bed, and from the camera angle Patrick could see a relieved smile on his face. 

_“Thank the Goddess,”_ the stranger said.  _“I was afraid there wouldn’t be anyone in this time who spoke Standard.”_

_“Well, to be honest I’m not from this time.”_ With those words, Jack slid up his coat sleeve to reveal his Vortex Manipulator.

That had the man shoot to his feet and taking several steps back.  _“Time Agent!”_ he hissed angrily, dropping into a defensive posture that telegraphed just how dangerous this person was, even with a broken arm.

Jack had his hands up.  _“Not anymore,”_ he said, obviously trying to placate the Shieldsman. 

There was apparently no love lost between their organisations, Patrick mused.  Jack had explained some of what the Time Agency had gotten up to, and that he’d had it on good authority that the Agency had been disbanded.

_“My Vortex Manipulator doesn’t work,”_ Jack was explaining.   _“I’m as stranded here as you are.  But I’ve made this time my home, and if we can’t get you back to your own century then we’ll help you make a home here as well.”_

Their guest was silent for a few moments, but then he began to relax once more, as if he was slowly accepting Jack’s story.  He didn’t sit back down, but he did lose the defensiveness.  _“Where and when am I?”_ he finally asked.

_“London, Earth Standard Year 2014,”_ Jack answered, lowering his own hands and taking a seat in the only chair in the room. 

That seemed to take the air out of the man’s sails.  He practically collapsed onto the bed, resting his elbow on his knee and his face in his good hand.  He didn’t say anything, and Patrick watched as Jack waited him out, because that had obviously been a shock to the man.

Finally, he lifted his head.  His expression was one of horrible exhaustion, and Patrick had to wonder just how long he’d been on the run from whoever had been chasing him.

Then his back went ramrod straight.  _“I am Phillip Pendragon, First Degree Shieldsman and personal guard to Her Imperial Highness, Crown Princess Julianna, Heir to the throne of the Human Empire.”_

“Did he say Pendragon?” Luke asked, amazed.

“Wait,” Martha interrupted.  “Isn’t that King Arthur?”

“Yes,” the young man answered excitedly.  “Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.”

Patrick didn’t much care because he was still trying not to react to the man’s first name.  He glanced over at Clint, and he could tell his friend was having the same problem he was.  It was bad enough that this person looked like their two years’ dead loved one, but to have the same name…

He turned back to the screen, needing to put his attention back on what was happening in that room.

_“Captain Jack Harkness,”_ Jack was introducing himself, _“Director of the Torchwood Institute here on Earth.”_

Phillip – no, Pendragon; Patrick had to call him by his last name or else he might very well have a long overdue freak-out and he really wanted to save that until he was back home and he could count on Alice to help him through it – bowed slightly.   

_“I have heard of your Institute, I am honoured to meet you.  I put myself in your hands, Captain.”_

Jack looked a little surprised that Pendragon had heard of Torchwood, but he didn’t ask.  Instead, he inquired, _“Can you tell me when you’re from and what happened to bring you back to the 21 st century?”_

_“Of course.”_ Pendragon settled himself, resting his hands on his lap.  His back was still straight, but he appeared to be a bit calmer. _“I am from Earth Standard Date the Fifth of February 5114.”_

Thirty-one hundred years into the future.  Patrick shook his head, not quite understanding the lengths between their times because he was still somehow hung up on the fact that Pendragon was far too much like his deceased uncle to completely embrace the idea that this person was that far separated from the man he resembled.

_“What I recall,”_ Pendragon went on, _“was that my niece was visiting me.  Her son is pregnant, and she was asking me to come home…”_

“Did he just say a man was pregnant?” Clint demanded.

“We’ve seen stranger things,” Martha replied.

“You have a point,” the archer conceded, although he still looked as if he wanted to dispute it.

_“Her visit…distracted me.  By the time I’d realised that the Imperial Palace had been infiltrated it was too late for me to really do anything.  I have no idea how they got in, since the entire Imperial Homeworld is shielded against any and all sorts of teleportation…but I do know Winn and I were trying to get to the throne room when we were attacked.  The next thing…I’m in the middle of a park at night, and I’m being pursued by six assailants who are doing their best to kill me.”_   He sighed.  _“Please give my thanks to your people, Captain Harkness.  They saved my life…even if I’m stranded here.”_

_“You have no idea who they were?”_ Jack asked.

Pendragon shook his head.  _“They didn’t wear any sort of uniform or identifying marks that I could see.  I’m…I do hope Winn got away.  I’d hate to think…”_ He swallowed thickly, looking down at his hands, which were twisting together helplessly.  _“Oh Goddess, her parents are going to kill me slowly if anything happened to her while she was under my protection…”_

“It really says something that he’s more worried about his niece than he is about being stranded in the past,” Martha murmured.

Patrick had to agree with her. He knew, if it had been Alice or Steven or Grace…yes, he’d prefer anything to happen to him rather than danger touch his family.  Even his team, his extended family…if something hurt them or did something to them, Patrick would have been gladly switched places with any of them to keep them from pain.

_“We’ll do our best to get you back to your own time,”_ Jack said, _“but you know I can’t promise anything.”_

_“I understand.”_ Pendragon smiled, a small, almost painful twist of his lips.  _“Please don’t think me ungrateful if I’m unhappy about it, though.”_

_“If it makes you feel any better, I know how you feel about being stuck in a strange place, with no current way to get home.”_

_“No, Captain.  It really doesn’t.”_

Patrick actually felt bad for the man.  He was stranded far away from home, not knowing if his niece had made it through whatever attack had taken place back where he’d come from.  That feeling certainly didn’t outweigh his confusion over Pendragon’s physical appearance, but it went a bit toward him being able to handle it better.

“I just…” Clint muttered.  Patrick looked at him, and the expression on his face must have matched his own and it was heartbreaking.  “This sucks, because while I know that guy in there isn’t Phil, there’s enough resemblance in him that it’s gonna be damned hard to deal with _that_ every day.”  He made a gesture toward the screen, which Patrick understood completely.

Patrick faced him.  “Jack won’t care if you take some time in Cardiff,” he murmured.  “Just until we figure out what to do with him…” He couldn’t even say their guest’s name.

“And what about you?” Clint asked softly.  “This is as hard on you as it on me.”

“I can’t leave.  I’m London Director; it’s my job to be here no matter what.  And that includes strangers wearing my uncle’s face.” His shoulders slumped as Patrick suddenly felt the weight of his interrupted night’s sleep settled over him.  “God, I’m just glad Mom’s not here.  She took Uncle Phil’s death so hard…”

“That sounds like two other people I know,” Martha replied, coming to stand between them.  She looped her arms through theirs, tugging them a bit closer and offering what comfort she could. 

“And what am I going to tell Steven?” Patrick asked fretfully.  “You know how much Steven idolised him…”

“You don’t have to tell him anything,” Martha assured him.  “This is Torchwood business and Steven doesn’t need to be involved.  There’s no reason to upset him.”

He took a deep breath.  Martha was right, of course.  There really was no reason at all that he had to tell Steven anything.  “Okay,” he agreed.  “I don’t, you’re right.”

“But you should talk to Alice,” Martha urged.  “She knows Torchwood and she’ll understand.  You _both_ need to speak to her, because if anyone understands how weird shit gets, it’s her.”

“You are a good friend, Martha Jones-Milligan,” Patrick smiled.  “Why don’t you get your husband and head home?  I doubt there’s anything else you can do here tonight.”

“I still have analyses running –“

“And they will run without you.  And take Luke with you, okay?  He’s a growing boy and needs his beauty sleep.”

“Hey!” Luke exclaimed.

His indignation made all three of them laugh.  “Get your gear,” Patrick ordered lightly.  “You don’t have to go back to Ealing, you can sack out on Martha’s sofa or something.”

“I am kinda tired,” Luke admitted. 

Patrick knew that Luke, as an artificial human, had more stamina than most, but even he could court exhaustion, and a late-night callout with a run through a park would definitely contribute to that.  “Go on,” he urged.

“Yeah,” Martha added, “my sofa’s comfortable and you can be back in early enough for your own tests to have stopped running.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Luke nodded, and then he was gone, heading back toward the science lab to get whatever he needed.

“And what about you two?” Martha asked.  “You need rest, too.”

“We’ll hang around until Jack’s ready to go,” Patrick answered.  ‘He and Clint can camp out at mine and Alice’s tonight.”

“I have a perfectly good place –“  Clint argued.

“You do, but you don’t need to stay on your own tonight.  You’d only wallow.”

The marksman couldn’t disagree, Patrick knew that.  He remembered very well the time after the Battle of New York and Uncle Phil’s memorial; Clint had been convinced it had all been his fault, that he’d somehow hadn’t fought hard enough against Loki’s mind control.  He’d blamed himself for all the deaths on SHIELD’s helicarrier, especially Uncle Phil’s, and it hadn’t helped that many of the people he’d once worked with had held it against him, as well.  The best thing Clint could have done was leave SHIELD and come to work for Torchwood, and he’d gradually healed.

Now, this had to be raking up all sorts of shit for his friend, and Patrick was going to do all he could to help.  And, if he was busy helping Clint, it might help him as well.

He looked back over at the screen, just in time to see Jack stand.  Patrick cursed himself for losing attention; he would have to re-watch tomorrow to see what he’d missed when he’d been distracted.

_“I’ll be back tomorrow,”_ he heard Jack promise.  _“Maybe we’ll have some ideas by then.  In the meantime, get some rest.  You’re safe here.”_

Pendragon didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. 

By the time Jack had rejoined the team, Pendragon was on the bed, the sheet pulled up to his shoulders.  “That went better than I’d thought,” he said.

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Patrick asked.

Jack sighed.  “Yeah, I do.  He’s got enough of the facts that prove he’s from where and when he says, and he just seems…honest.  Oh, there’s some things he’s hiding from me, and right now I’m willing to put that down to not wanting to risk timelines.  He’s being as truthful as he can be.”

“Let’s all be back here by noon,” Patrick said.  “I’m gonna call Erisa and have her come in as arranged, letting her know about our guest.  She can get breakfast for him on the way in.”  Erisa Magambo was ex-UNIT, and leader of the tertiary team.  Jack had grabbed her after an event that had involved the Doctor and a London bus, and she’d proved herself ever since.  She’d been a bit serious as first, but being around the rest of the team and out from under UNIT’s regulations she’d lightened up considerably.

“You’re too late.”

They all turned as Erisa walked into the partitioned area, carrying several bags with her.  She looked calm and collected in her civilian clothes; Patrick liked her coolness under pressure, even if she tended to get a bit excited about anything unknown.  He’d known immediately that she’d be perfect to lead the third team of Torchwood operatives in London.  Not that the three teams didn’t overlap; Jack had originally thought that having three separate teams would mean three different shifts, but Patrick had quickly put paid to that idea.  Yes, the shift schedule did work in times when it was quiet, but Patrick wasn’t afraid to switch up shifts if there were any late-night call-outs. 

Just like now, when members of the primary and secondary teams had taken care of the fire fight last night.  Before leaving for the scene Patrick had contacted Erisa and warned her they were heading out, and she’s agreed to take the morning shift.  Her team was made up of ex-UNIT and ex-SHIELD; Jeff Cable and Cassandra Conover had been a part of the exchange programme Jack and Fury had set up after the 456 incursion, and once they’d been proved loyal they’d remained with the team.  Their third SHIELD transfer, Laura Paulson, had been HYDRA and, once she’d been questioned about just how much HYDRA knew about Torchwood, Jack had pumped her so full of Retcon she was in a near-catatonic state and was residing permanently in Providence Park, away from prying eyes.

The one HYDRA agent found at Torchwood House hadn’t been so lucky.

“I understand we have a visitor?” she went on, dropping the bags on the nearest desk.  The scent of bacon and spicy sauce wafted up from them, making Patrick’s stomach grumble.

“Yeah, let me brief you.”  Quickly, Patrick told Erisa everything that had happened last night – she acted put out at being left out of a gunfight – and explained what they’d discovered from him.  “Let him sleep a while then take him in something to eat.  He’s had a rough night.”

Erisa nodded.  “We’ll look after him.  Jeff and Cassie are due in shortly, and I’ve asked Santiago and Gena to come in as well.” Torchwood London’s two other members, Santiago del Rio and Genevieve Colvert, had interviewed at the same time as Patrick had, and it had only made sense to bring them on when Torchwood began its expansion.

The former UNIT captain’s dark eyes were shrewd.  “Can we expect anyone else to come after Pendragon?”

“They may,” Jack answered.  “But I’m hoping they’ll have lost track of him once you removed him from the park.  Unless there was some sort of tracker on him, which I doubt they had time for.”

“There’s just one thing I don’t get,” Patrick mused.

“Just one?” Clint asked acerbically.

Patrick ignored him for the time being, but yes…there really was more to this than met the eye, and he could tell Jack thought so, too.  “Why bring him back in time?  What was the purpose of that?  I mean, he’d be just as dead if they’d killed him in the future.”

“That is one of many good questions,” Jack said.  “As I said, he’s being truthful…as far as he can be.  Much of it was because of timelines, but yeah…he is holding something back.  I’ll talk to him again tomorrow and see if we can’t get an answer for you.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

 

The sun was just on the horizon by the time Patrick pulled his car into the driveway of his and Alice’s house in a quiet cul-de-sac in Battersea. There were lights on in a couple of the other houses on the street; neighbours were up and getting ready for work just as he, Jack, and Clint were getting home from a long night.

The thing was, Patrick would never have wished for a normal life like the one his neighbours had.  A normal life would never have gotten him what he had now: friends, family, his Alice and their children, and a job that he loved and knew he’d never retire from, which in his mind was a good thing indeed. 

Patrick let them inside.  The smell of coffee welcomed him home, and he couldn’t help but smile despite how tired he was. 

His father-in-law and friend following, he headed toward the kitchen, where his wife awaited them with coffee already poured, looking soft and comfortable in her pyjamas and robe.

Alice Delaware looked at them each in turn before handing out the mugs.  “I shouldn’t be giving you this,” she commented.  “Coffee isn’t exactly good for getting any sleep.”

“You are a goddess among women,” Patrick gushed, accepting her offering. “I don’t say it enough, but it’s true.”  It was hot and not quite as strong as he usually took it, but he understood Alice’s reasons for it.

“Good thing Tad called ahead and said all three of you were coming,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter.  “He said it was serious.”

Patrick couldn’t help it; he leaned next to her, close enough to feel the heat from her body.  He soaked it in as if it were the very balm to his soul.  He honestly hadn’t believed in soulmates until he’d met Alice.  “Yeah, it is,” he admitted.  He knew he could tell her anything and she would be there to support him. Just as she knew she could confide in him and he would be there for her, no matter what.

Her eyes darted to Jack and Clint, and Patrick could tell she was figuring things out.  “It must be bad.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, slumping down onto one of the stools that stood around the central island.  He was still a bit pale from the night’s revelations, and he cradled the mug between his hands.

Alice looked concerned at his demeanour.  “What happened?”  She glanced at her father, and then Patrick, as if she could glean it from their expressions.

He told her everything; about the fight in Hyde Park, and of finding the man calling himself Phillip Pendragon and of how much he resembled his dead uncle.  Alice’s face turned understanding as he continued on, and once the story was done she rested her hand on his arm in support, and then made her way around the island to wrap her arms around Clint, giving him what comfort she could.

Patrick didn’t blame her one bit.  Yes, he’d been shocked by how much their guest had looked like his uncle, but Clint had taken it even harder.  It hadn’t just been losing someone he’d cared about; Clint had dated Phil Coulson for nearly a couple of years before distance and missions came between them, and Clint had always regretted losing him to another.  But it was also the guilt of leading the raid on the Helicarrier that had led to Uncle Phil’s death, before Clint had admitted that he’d made a mistake in letting him go.  Seeing Phillip Pendragon had raked up every bit of loss and guilt and pain he’d suffered, and when he’d been nearly healed…

“You’re welcome here for as long as you need,” she murmured into Clint’s shoulder.  Her eyes met Patrick’s, and he nodded at her unspoken request. 

“Let’s get cleaned up and in bed,” Patrick urged.  “It’s been a hell of a night and we’re all exhausted.”

“Besides,” Jack chimed in, “we all want to be asleep before Gracie wakes up the entire place.”

That brought a snort out of Clint.  “My goddaughter isn’t that bad,” he denied, turning his head and giving their boss a mock-glare.

“My granddaughter is,” Jack grinned. 

“He has a point,” Patrick added.  His and Alice’s daughter, Grace Phillipa, was nearing the terrible twos and was showing it in a really big way.  Even Steven, usually so easy-going, was beginning to show the strain.

“You’re all mean,” Clint raised his head without dislodging Alice’s embrace. He’d regained a little of his humour at the quiet bantering.

Maybe the wounds weren’t that bad after all.  Patrick could certainly hope.

“How long are you going to be in town, Dad?” Alice asked as she chivvied Clint up off his stool. 

“A couple of days at least,” Jack answered.  “I know the translation program is now up and running but I’m hoping a friendly voice speaking his language will help to convince him to cooperate fully.”

“You can stay as long as you want, Dad,” Alice responded.  “I know Steven will be happy to see you.”

Jack looked contrite as they headed up the stairs toward the bedrooms.  “I’m hoping now that things are calming down a bit and Ianto’s pretty much finished with Torchwood House that we’ll have more time to visit.  I really do miss you all.”

Alice smiled softly.  “We miss you and Tad too.  Come on, to bed with you all, because if Steven finds out you’re all here Gracie won’t be the only one making a racket.  And believe me when I say that a sixteen-year-old can make just as much noise as a two-year-old…if not more.”

Once Clint and Jack had been shown to the guest room, and Alice had given them both hugs as they parted company, Patrick grabbed her by the hand and led her toward their own room at the end of the hall.  “Lay down with me for a bit?” he asked, letting more of his tiredness show.

Alice shook her head fondly.  “Just a few minutes,” she allowed.  “Some of us have things to do today, after all.”

“I doubt I’ll be up to much anyway,” he admitted, leaning forward and kissing her lightly.  “I just need to be close for a short while.”

“I can understand that.”

Patrick led her into the bedroom, and she didn’t even wake him up when she got up to take care of the kids.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait and post Chapter Four until tomorrow, but then I realized that Chapter Three was really short and I wanted to give you all a bit more to chew on... *grins*

 

**_5 February 5114_ **

**_Ddraig Llyn_ **

**_Interlude_ **

****

Anwyn Pendragon – nee Harkness-Jones – was exhausted down to her very bones, which ached from the beating she’d taken earlier that day.

Transmatting from Earth’s orbital space dock wasn’t the smooth trip it usually was, but Anwyn figured that had more to do with her physical condition than anything else.  She sighed as the familiar walls of the transmat terminal in her family home shimmered into view around her, and she shrugged the sling she wore to support her damaged shoulder into a more comfortable position as she stepped from the cubicle and into the hallway.

It wasn’t empty.  Her son, Arthur, was waiting for her, and he wrapped her up into a careful hug as she emerged.  Anwyn finally let herself relax, even as upset as she was the very presence of her little boy – not really a boy, but a man expecting his first child – calmed her quite a lot. 

“Thank Goddess you’re okay,” Arthur murmured into her hair.  “I was so worried when news of what happened on the Imperial Throneworld was reported to us…”

“I’m alright,” she said, pulling back slightly.  “It could have been so much worse…”

Arthur’s blue eyes examined her, and Anwyn knew he was categorising her myriad injuries.  It took a lot to take one of them down, and those bastards had tried their damnedest to do just that.  “Any news of Uncle Phillip?” he asked, carefully cupping the bruise on her cheek.

Anwyn barely held in the hiss as his fingers, as gentle as they were, touched her skin.  “Nothing,” she admitted.  “One of the attackers was left behind, and Steve is questioning him.  Hopefully we’ll get something out of him that will give us some sort of clue.” 

Arthur nodded.  Anwyn knew that while her son wasn’t as familiar with Uncle Phillip’s comrades in the Shieldsmen as she was, he was well aware of just how far they would go to retrieve one of their own…especially Phillip Pendragon.  “Did you let them know that Torchwood is at their disposal?”

She nodded.  “Steve said he’d call if he needed anything.”

“Good.  But right now, we have something else to worry about.”

Anwyn frowned as Arthur ushered her into the enormous lounge of the family home.  “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know,” her Tad, Ianto Jones, said, startling her.  She should have known he’d be there; after all, this was his house and had been for millennia.  “Anwyn, you look worse than I thought you would.”

Her Tad’s arms were around her, and Anwyn felt the rest of her tension vanish in his familiar embrace.  “I’m sorry, Tad,” she whispered, not caring that he was holding her just wrong so that her injured shoulder began throbbing worse than it had been.  “I couldn’t stop them…”

“You tried,” he said, pulling back just enough to kiss her forehead.  “There wasn’t a thing you could do.”

Anwyn really wanted to believe that.  The attack had been such a shock…there’d been no warning at all, and the Imperial Palace should have been shielded against all sorts of teleportation, which meant that it had to have been an inside job.  She’d fought as hard as she could, but they’d been too well armed and had obviously been expecting her being there. 

She might have even been the distraction they’d needed in order to get to her uncle, and Anwyn didn’t care for that thought at all.

“Come on,” her Tad took her by the hand and finished leading her into the family lounge.  Her Dad, Jack Harkness, was sitting in one of the large, overstuffed chairs, his face pale and drawn and he was looking so small that Anwyn couldn’t keep the tiny whimper of fear from escaping her lips.  She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her Dad like that, and she pulled away from her Tad and launched herself forward, ignoring her bruises in order to kneel in front of him.  Her good hand was trembling as she reached out and took his; his skin, usually so warm, was chilled under her fingers.

“What’s wrong?” she exclaimed as her Dad lowered her eyes to look at her, dark circles making them look as if they were as bruised as Anwyn was.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Jack murmured, his voice a pale echo of his normal, boisterous tone.  “There’s something…I can feel it, but I don’t know what it is.”

“You know your Dad’s immortality is because of his connection to the Time Vortex,” Ianto said, sitting on the arm of the chair and wrapping an arm around his mate’s shoulders.

Anwyn nodded.  She knew the whole story of how her Dad had become immortal: how Rose Tyler, his friend, had channelled the Vortex and had wished him to be alive, only she hadn’t been able to control it and it made Jack unable to stay dead.  It was also the partial reason she and her siblings and the rest of her blood family were also so long-lived.

“We believe someone’s trying to manipulate the timelines,” Arthur went on.  “It’s also affecting Merlin, but worse than it is with Grandfather.”

She looked up at her son, now seeing what she thought was concern was actual real fear; fear for his own mate, as well as for Jack.  “How is it affecting Merlin?”

“He’s retreated into himself,” her son answered.  “I can’t get through to him at all.  And his magic has somehow cocooned him, like it’s protecting him in some way.  I managed to get him to bed but that’s all I could do.”  He looked as if he wanted to wring his hands, but pride was keeping him from losing that much control, even in front of his family.

“When did this start?”  Anwyn asked, although a terrible realisation was dawning on her.  It was too much of a coincidence…

“About the same time Phillip was taken,” Ianto said softly.

“How does this make sense?” she asked.  “I know he was taken for some reason we don’t know yet, but how would his kidnapping affect time?”

Jack glanced up at her Tad; Ianto leaned over, resting his forehead against Jack’s own.  “Whatever is going on is affecting our own memories,” Ianto admitted.  “We…can’t remember if it had something to do with the past or if it’s something completely different.”

“I can answer that,” a new voice said from the door.

Anwyn stood, gaping as her younger brother, Franklin, entered the room.  She hadn’t seen him since the dragon children had been released from their shells, twelve years ago.

But then, that was just like Franklin.  It was as if he’d been born with itchy feet, feeling as if he needed to travel the entire Twelve Galaxies and unable to settle down in one place.  At 1642 years old, Franklin was the oldest of the children not to have gained his dragon form; having been born from their Dad, he wouldn’t obtain that until he’d found his mate.  It hadn’t stopped him from taking lovers, or from getting himself pregnant, but Anwyn adored her niece and nephew, the twins Nicole and Nathan, and she knew as well as anyone that the best birth control in the universe sometimes just didn’t work. 

Franklin wasn’t overly tall, or conventionally handsome like their fathers.  His nose looked as if it had been broken a couple of times and not healed properly; Anwyn actually remembered one time it had happened, during a bar fight on Space Station Zed, where she’d had to drag his sorry arse back to her ship to patch him up after he’d gotten into an argument with a drunken Corliani.  His dark blond hair was the lightest in the family, and his eyes were some sort of bizarre combination of both their parents with a small splash of green in them, giving them an almost kaleidoscopic aspect. 

Her brother looked slightly freaked out, and more than a little scared.  Anwyn wanted to go over and hug him, but at the same time if he knew what was going on… “What is it?” she wanted to know.

Franklin came farther into the room, where Ianto was there to greet him with a hug.  Franklin clutched at him almost frantically, and when Ianto pulled away Anwyn could see the confusion in their Tad’s eyes.  “What is it, son?”

“And how do you even know something’s wrong?” Arthur demanded.

“I’ve known something was gonna happen for a long time,” Franklin admitted, scuffing his boot toe against the carpet as if he was a small boy having been caught in committing some sort of naughty act.  “But I couldn’t say anything because the past and future couldn’t be changed.”  He suddenly pulled himself up to his full height, his spine straight.  “Phillip’s been taken back to the past.  The year 2014 to be precise.”

“But how do you know?” Anwyn pressed, wanting this to make sense when it really didn’t. 

“Because I was there.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

 

It was a full house at the Hub2 when Patrick, Clint, and Jack showed back up around 1pm. 

“What’s up, people?” Patrick asked as the three of them entered into the main area of the former warehouse.

The rest of Torchwood London practically sprang to attention, and Patrick barely concealed his smirk.  Sneaking up on them all was way too much fun.

By seemingly silent majority Luke reported first.  “I finished the analysis on the metal of those knives, and they’re definitely not from Earth.  They’re some sort of alloy with a metal that’s not terrestrial in origin, and is far stronger than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“That makes sense,” Jack mused.  “We’re dealing with a displaced Imperial Shieldsman.  They’d have the best weapons available.”

“I had everyone listen to the recording from your questioning of Pendragon,” Erisa said. “I think we’re all pretty much up-to-date with what our visitor claimed.”

“Thanks, Erisa,” Patrick said warmly. 

“I can’t believe he really said his name was Pendragon,” Josh put in, sounding excited.  But then, the former television presenter had a degree in archaeology as well as being Torchwood’s resident cryptozoologist and xenozoologist. 

“At least his first name wasn’t Arthur,” Mickey quipped. 

“Yes, we all know that’s where it comes from,” Josh went on, “but its etymological roots are what’s so interesting. It’s from the Welsh, and it means ‘head dragon’ or ‘chief dragon’.  I don’t think we can accept that it’s coincidence that he’s here now, when the last of the dragons isn’t all that far away and is Welsh to boot.”

 Patrick could feel his father-in-law’s shock just as well as Patrick could his own.  He regarded Jack.  “What do you think?”

 Jack growled. “I think I might want to speak to him again.”

“I think you’re overlooking something here,” Martha put in. 

“What?” Clint asked.  He still looked a bit rough from the surprises from earlier, but at least he seemed to be coping pretty well. 

“I got the DNA analysis back,” the doctor answered.  “The man in that room is human…with some unknown alien genes added.”

“That makes sense,” Jack said.  “By his time, humans and aliens had been interbreeding for generations.  Even I have some alien DNA in me.  Not a lot, but some.”

“Yes, but I also decided to compare the results to Patrick’s,” she admitted.  “And there’s a match.”

Patrick suddenly felt like sitting down.  “A match?” he asked weakly.

“Enough of one that I can say with certainty that they’re related, yes,” Martha confirmed.

“You’re saying our guest is a descendant of Patrick’s?” Jeff Cable asked incredulously.  The former SHIELD agent ran a hand through his dark hair, which was a nervous habit he had.

“It would explain why he looks so much like Phil Coulson,” Jack said.  “It would also explain the first name; it could be a family name in the future.”

That made sense, since Patrick and Alice had named their daughter Grace Phillipa, her middle name taken from the uncle she’d never get to know.

“I’d like to do a better examination at some point,” Martha added.  “He really wouldn’t let me last night.  He’d only let me set his arm.  He even undressed in private.”

“Wait a sec,” Mickey scoffed.  “What happened to the swinging 51st century?”

Jack shrugged.  “He could be from some sect or planet that values their bodily privacy.  They do still exist in the future; it’s just there aren’t many of them around anymore.”

Patrick barely followed their conversation.  His mind was racing.  A descendant of his from the future?  Was it from Gracie, or from another child that he and Alice hadn’t had yet?  A part of him was excited to know that his family continued that far into the future, but at the same time his brain was having a hard time dealing with it.  Up until now, the future had been an abstract concept; he’d understood that his very father-in-law had been born in the 51st century, but it was a bit different having to accept that someone who’d come from his own family that far ahead was actually there, in the Hub2, a person who didn’t even speak the same language that Patrick did.

It was truly mind-boggling.

He felt a hand on his shoulder; it was Clint, and there was a look on his face that was equal parts awe and shock.  “It’s a validation,” his friend whispered, the better to not interrupt the debates going on around them.  “Gracie lives to carry on your family line, and then some day someone in that line comes back here to prove that the Delaware name continues on.”

“Hardly the Delaware name, since his surname is Pendragon.”  Patrick felt strangely bitter about that.

“But Patrick…don’t you get it?  You and Alice are related by marriage to a real fucking dragon…it only makes sense that at some point they embrace that connection.  I can’t help but think this is a really good thing.”

Clint was correct.  Patrick had to see this as proof that his own line continued far into the future, still going strong to produce someone who would become a bodyguard to the Imperial family.    

He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hand.  Here was the evidence he’d always wanted that his family would be safe and would survive and hadn’t realised he’d needed it until it was staring him in the face.  He nodded to Clint, silently letting him know what his words meant, that Patrick understood completely what all of this intimated.  Clint smiled faintly, squeezed his shoulder, and then jerked his head toward the ongoing discussion around them.

Yes, it was time to get things back on track.

“Okay, everyone,” he called out over the hubbub.  Everyone fell silent; even Clyde, who’d obviously been in the middle of some sort of argument with Mickey about future tech they didn’t even have.  “I’m officially letting the tertiary team head on home, but you’ll all be on call.  I don’t know if whoever it was who brought Pendragon here will come back to try to finish the job on him, but we need to be on guard.”

That got him nods from the five members of the tertiary team, although Jeff looked as if he wanted to argue. 

Patrick cut him off.  “Jeff…you, Cassie, and Santiago are in the middle of your investigation into the alien black market, and I don’t want you to put that on hold just because we have a visitor from the future.  You’re all on duty tonight, so get some rest and be back on point at 10pm.  Santiago, don’t you have that meeting with that artefact hunter?”

Santiago nodded.  “You’re right,” he said in his faintly accented English.  “I can’t afford to miss this. I doubt the chance will come round again and we really need to get an in to the gang behind the artefact trade.”

Jeff looked mollified; of all of tertiary team, he was the one who’d worked hardest on getting inside the black market, and Patrick had let him have free rein over the operation, trusting him to do his very best job.  He and Cassie were nearly an unstoppable team when it came to field work. That work had to continue if they had any chance in stopping the alien weapons’ trade.

“Jack,” Patrick went on, “you want to go and question our guest some more?”

His father-in-law nodded.  “It would seem Pendragon is keeping a few things from us, and while I’m positive it’s because of timeline issues I still want to get some clarification.”

“Everyone else…I know you all have work to do,” Patrick said to the group who would be remaining at Hub2.  “There’s still the reports from last night that’ll be due.”  That earned him a few groans.  “Martha and Luke, are you still running tests on our guest and his belongings?”

“I’m working on his clothes and the shield generator,” Luke replied.

“And I still want to get a full-body exam done,” Martha added.

“Jack can let Pendragon know he’ll be expected to cooperate,” Patrick assured her.

“No problem,” Jack said.

“Let’s get to work, then.”

 

**********

 

Patrick lost track of time trying to get his own paperwork done, and only looked up when Jack came into his office and sprawled across the guest chair, sighing heavily.

“Not go well?” he asked, tossing his pen down onto the blotter.

“You could say that,” Jack answered.  “Pendragon flatly refuses to let Martha do a complete physical on him, citing religious reasons.  Apparently he’s a member of the Ordoni sect, and they have strict rules against being naked in front of strangers…especially strangers of the opposite sex.”

“And does it?”

“No idea.” His father-in-law shrugged.  “I know there are such sects and races out there in my time, but I honestly didn’t pay much attention to them.  It was no fun if you couldn’t get them into bed…or at least I used to think that way.  Guess I’ve spent too much time being repressed by Earth’s outdated morality where sexuality is concerned.”

Like _that_ was true; after all, Jack was sleeping with an honest-to-God dragon.  Patrick doubted he could count on one hand the number of 21 st century humans who would be willing to do that.  “This won’t make Martha happy.”

“Pendragon says he’d be willing to answer any questions she has, within reason.  He just refuses to let her do anything more…personal.”

“There’s always the deep tissue scanner, and he wouldn’t even have to take off his clothes for that.”

Jack rubbed his chin.  “That would work.  I bet he’d go along with it.”

“Did you make any other headway?”

“Afraid not.  I did ask about his family name, and he said there’d always been a Pendragon in the Shieldsmen since the 37th century.  He doesn’t have any idea where they got the name.”

That was disappointing.  Patrick had been curious just when Delaware had been replaced by Pendragon, and why.   “Is he aware that, chances are, we won’t be able to return him to his own time?”

“He is.  In fact, he was the one who confronted me about it, and I didn’t want to lie to him.” Jack made a disgusted face.  “It wouldn’t be a problem if we’d gotten Gray’s wrist strap back from UNIT.  We could have used that, and gotten it back to where it belonged.”

Patrick nodded.  He recalled just how angry Jack had been to have been dragged back into another of the Doctor’s schemes, especially that day when the note had come to practically order his boss to give up his precious Vortex Manipulator to the Black Archive, all because of some timey whimey plan that the Time Lord had cooked up.  Instead of giving his up, he’d sent Gray’s; after all, it had been sitting in Cardiff’s Secure Archives ever since Jack’s crazy brother had been apprehended, but it had meant that hadn’t had it the times it had been needed. 

Jack had – perhaps childishly, but Patrick wasn’t about to point fingers – confiscated the Time Lord painting, _Gallifrey Falls No More,_ from the museum it had ended up in.  The curator had been more than happy to let it go, although he’d seemed a bit smug about it.  It now had pride of place in the front hall of Torchwood House.

“We should probably start the intake process pretty quickly.”  Jack looked at Patrick as if he was trying to read his mind, and Patrick hated that; it made him feel like a naughty little kid.  “I think it’s best that I take him back to Cardiff and let Deborah handle it.”

“You don’t think we can handle it ourselves?” Patrick was outraged on behalf of his team.  They’d handled alien intake before, and had done it well; Tish and Rani were the ones he trusted to make certain that anyone stranded on the planet was helped to assimilate into Earth culture and customs.  They’d only had one problem, but the other times had gone near-flawlessly.

Jack shook his head.  “Patrick, you know how much I trust you and your teams.  But even you have to admit this is a completely different circumstance here.  That man so closely resembles Phil Coulson that it would only be a matter of time before either you or Clint became compromised.  And, while I’m fairly certain you could pull yourself out of it, I’m not that sure about Clint.  He lost Coulson _twice_ : once because their jobs got in the way, and by the time he’d realised anything there’d been someone else in Coulson’s life; and the second time to a mad alien with delusions of grandeur and a mind-controlling spear.  And you _know_ he blames himself for both times, even though there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to prevent either.”

Of course, Jack was correct.   

Patrick had tried so hard to hate Audrey Nathan, thinking that she’d stolen Clint’s place in his uncle’s heart. In the end he couldn’t, simply because she’d made his uncle happy.  And it wasn’t even her fault; she hadn’t come between Uncle Phil and Clint, since that break-up had occurred at least a year before his uncle had even met the cellist, and it had been such an inexorable thing that really no one could have been blamed, except for perhaps Nick Fury, who in the end had been the one to send them on separate assignments until they’d simply lost track of each other.

As for Loki…yes, Clint still bore the guilt of that, even after the last two years.  It had gotten much better since he’d quit SHIELD and the Avengers and had come to London, but there had always been that niggling doubt in his friend that Patrick would see every once in a while, and he and Alice had tried so hard to help him heal.  In a way, SHIELD falling and HYDRA being exposed had made things worse, making Clint wonder just who he’d been responsible for killing…the good guys or the bad.    And he still could recall the day Clint had made the comment that he was glad that Phil had died before seeing what had happened to SHIELD…the expression of horror on the archer’s face when he’d realised just what he’d said had nearly broken Patrick’s heart.

“I offered to let Clint transfer temporarily to Cardiff,” he murmured, rubbing his forehead to ward off the incipient headache that had suddenly developed in light of Jack’s revelation.

“And of course he wouldn’t take it.”

“Of course not.”

Jack smiled sadly.  “You really can’t fault his loyalty.”

“He’s one of the most loyal people I know.”  It was true.  When Clint had come to join Patrick in London, it had struck him immediately that Clint would have given his life for Patrick himself, as well as Alice, Grace, and Steven.  They were his family…but more than that, they were _Phil_ _Coulson’s_ family, and that meant more to him than anything. 

It had taken Clint a while to trust the team that Patrick had helped put together, with the exceptions of Martha, Ianto, and Tosh, whom he’d been introduced to during that business at CERN.  But slowly he’d come to include them in his new family as well, along with the rest of the Cardiff team, whom he’d met before at Patrick and Alice’s wedding.  Trust had come easier for the archer where Ianto had been concerned, having been raised on stories of the magical when he’d been living with the circus he’d been ‘adopted’ by. 

“Okay,” Patrick capitulated.  “You’re right.”  He shook his finger in Jack’s direction.  “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Jack smirked, although it had a tired cast to it.  “I’m sure Ianto will puncture my ego before it gets too big.”  Then he sobered.  “I’ll call Diane in a bit and have her fly back down to pick us up.  I’d anticipated staying for several days when I’d sent her back to Cardiff, but I think this is the better plan.  The sooner I can escort Pendragon to Cardiff and put him in Deborah’s capable hands, the quicker we can go back to business as usual.  And maybe he’ll let Owen do a more complete physical than Martha would ever get from him.”

Patrick nodded.  It really was the best thing to do, even if there was a part of him thinking this was a defeat on his part, and on the part of his teams.  It really wasn’t; Jack was absolutely correct in taking Pendragon back to the main Hub and letting his own team – especially Deborah, who was uniquely suited to help time-stranded refugees – handle getting the man settled into this century while Jack would help him with learning English. 

He was just about to verbally agree with Jack’s plan when his office door was flung open, revealing a slightly breathless Josh Gates.  “We’ve got a ping,” he reported.

Patrick’s heart sped up just a little.  “Where?” he asked, standing and reaching into his desk drawer for his favourite gun…no matter what other weapons he used, he’d always have that soft spot for his original FBI-issued Glock, although it hadn’t always been so. He slid it into its holster as Jack was also on his feet, his own Webley drawn and being checked. 

He didn’t bother to check the back-up gun at his ankle; but then, Patrick really didn’t need to.  Nor did he pat himself for the several knives he had hidden on his person.  He’d learned early on not to give his weapons’ stashes away, not if he didn’t want them taken away from him.

“St James Square,” Josh reported, moving out of the way as both Patrick and Jack left the office.  “On one of the taller buildings.  Luke thinks it might be Buchanan House judging from the height.”

“What sort of ping?” Jack inquired. 

“Temporal,” the cryptozoologist answered.  “Think it might be a friend of our guest?”

“Too much of a coincidence to rule that out.”  If it was, then it meant they’d need to head whoever or whatever it was causing the alert off before anyone got hurt. 

It looked as if Jack taking Pendragon into his custody and transferring him to Cardiff was becoming a better and better idea.

 

***********

 

Torchwood London’s state-of-the art SUV rolled to a halt in front of Buchanan House, a tall and imposing office building on the east side of St James Square.  As it was during business hours, there were cars parked on either side of the street, and Patrick slid the larger vehicle practically onto the curb by Buchanan House’s front entrance, not caring that he was parking illegally.  The number plate on the SUV was a special number dedicated to Torchwood vehicles, approved by Her Majesty herself, and it meant that, no matter how badly Patrick drove, he’d never get pulled over.

Which, in his opinion and that of his teammates, was not a bad thing, or else he’d have lost his license ages ago.  Patrick had never really quite grasped the intricacies of British traffic laws.

He got out of the car, followed by Jack from the front passenger seat, as well as Josh and Mickey from the rear.  Patrick took the lead, with his father-in-law at his shoulder, as they entered the foyer of Buchanan House, bypassing the front desk and heading toward the emergency stairs, kindly marked with a large, friendly green sign.

No one seemed to want to stop them, but then Patrick had just parked as if he’d owned the road and even he had to admit the four of them cut an intimidating picture: Jack in his greatcoat, Josh being an imposing presence, both in bulk and height, and Mickey glowering at anyone who happened to meet his gaze.  Patrick didn’t even know what his own expression was, but it must have been just a bit scary judging from the workers who got out of their way.  It most likely helped that each of them was visibly armed.

Patrick pushed the steel door open, and the sound of heavy boots echoed through the stairwell as he and his team took the steps at a run, heading toward the roof.  If what Luke had deduced was true, then whatever had come through time would be up there, if it wasn’t gone already.  Patrick had put the Hub2 on partial lockdown in case this was connected with Pendragon…and really, what else could it be?

Buchanan House was only five stories, so it didn’t take them long to get to the roof access.  Patrick stopped and motioned to his team, silently telling them to be ready.  Then he looked at Jack, who was leaning forward, his wrist strap open, pushing buttons as he used the device to disengage the lock.  There was a faint click, and Jack nodded, fading back and letting Patrick lead the way.

Guns were pulled from various holsters, and Torchwood London’s leader held up three fingers.  Slowly, he curled them in, counting down. 

When he reached one, Patrick slammed his shoulder against the metal door that led to the roof.  The four of them fanned out in different directions, searching for whatever it had been that had set off Luke’s sensor network.

“Now, this is what I call a greeting!” exclaimed a very familiar voice.

Patrick bit back a curse as he turned in the direction Josh had gone.  Making his way around a ventilation stack, he saw someone he’d hoped never to meet again, staring down the barrel of Josh’s gun as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Jack joined him, followed by Mickey, and the captain didn’t stifle the bad language at all.  Josh raised an eyebrow at their Director’s tirade; it wasn’t something any of them heard happen very often.  “I take it you know this guy,” Josh said, not phrasing it as a question at all.

The headache that Patrick had been nursing came back in full force even as he holstered his weapon.  “I wish I didn’t,” he sighed.

The man in the red vintage military jacket looked offended.  He put his hand over his heart.  “I am wounded,” he moaned, “wounded to the quick.  Is that any way to speak to someone who saved that rather glorious arse of yours?”

“Yeah,” Patrick snarked, “after you got it shot in the first place.”  Just when he’d thought it couldn’t get worse…

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends?” the man asked petulantly.  “None of them are blond though…you still have that lovely blonde counter girl back in Cardiff I hope?  A team is only as good as the blonde who’s on it, after all…and Goddess, was she good…”

As it looked like Jack wasn’t in any mood to give the introductions, Patrick figured he should, so his team would know who they would be killing if things went to hell…which, they were very likely to.  “Josh Gates…Mickey Smith…meet John Hart.”

Hart gave both men a seductive smile and a coy little wave.

God, this sucked…

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to say there won't be a new chapter tomorrow, I'm spending a couple of days at Mom's. But the next one will be up Thursday.

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_Cardiff_ **

 

****

Ianto Jones sighed, leaning back in his chair, at the desk he and Jack had taken to sharing in the main office of the Hub.  He stretched his arms over his head, the cloth of his jacket pulling across his shoulders and tugging his light blue shirt up around his throat.

He was so very glad to be back in Cardiff, after having spent a majority of the last four and a half years up at Torchwood House, working in the main Archive for the Institute.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed the work; he had, taking care of the relics and technology that the Torchwood Institute had collected over the years of its existence.  It had been like walking through history, in a way, and Ianto had found it so very rewarding that, if he hadn’t had someone waiting for him back in Cardiff, he would have been glad to stay.

But there was Jack, and nothing would keep him from his mate’s side for very long.  Ianto had managed to make it back as often as he could, but it wasn’t the same as living in the same house and working in the same office, and being on the same team.  Torchwood House had held its own fascinations, but when Kate Stewart and her people had finally closed down the last of UNIT’s Black Archives at the Tower of London and had accompanied the last load of artefacts up to Glasgow, Ianto had turned the keys over to the Brigadier’s daughter and had gotten back to where he belonged as quickly as he possibly could.

And now, barely a month back from Scotland, Jack was in London and Ianto was in Cardiff, running the team as he was meant to do while his mate was away, doing his best to help out their teams in London.

It was a real mystery, to boot.

Ianto sighed, sitting back upright in the chair.  Just as he was getting used to sleeping with his mate every night, Jack had had to go and leave for London…oh well, there was paperwork to do, things that Jack had flatly refused to even look at, which meant that there was more shit to do than a dragon had time for. 

He really did love his mate.  Honestly.  Even if the immortal frustrated him in not so good ways sometimes.

“Ianto!” Toshiko’s voice called up from the main Hub floor.

The dragon got up and poked his head around the open door jamb.  “What is it?”

His technical genius was seated at her workstation, her fingers still on the keyboard in front of her.  Her glasses reflected the lit screens surrounding her, her eyes probing something only she could see.  “You really need to come and see this,” she answered, not looking toward him.

As Ianto got closer, he could really make out the stunned surprise on Toshiko’s face.  He frowned as he approached her.  “What’s going on?” he asked, resting a hand on her shoulder as he turned his own gaze toward the largest monitor in the cluster hung over her desk.

It was a view from the CCTV outside on the Quay.  Even in black and white, Ianto could see what a pleasant day it was; there were all sorts of people out and about: locals out for a walk along the Quay, and tourists seeing the sights of the Plass and the surrounding area.  The sun lent a brightness to the monochrome video as people went to and fro, and Ianto couldn’t help but feel slightly confused by what he was – or wasn’t – seeing.  “I don’t understand.”

‘You know I always keep the facial recognition software running in the background of the CCTV,” she explained.  Ianto nodded; he was aware of it.  Toshiko had fallen in love with the software when it had come over from SHIELD before it had fallen.  It had been light years ahead of what Torchwood had originally had, and it had only improved once Toshiko had gotten her hands on its code.  “There are certain facial parameters I’d programmed into it, you know…friends and such,” she went on, “and an alarm is set to warn me when those parameters are detected.”  She typed in a short command, and the images on the monitor froze.  “I was working on some of the specs for those generators that we found last week, and the alarm went off.  This is what I saw.”  Another command was typed, and the picture pixelated as Toshiko zoomed in.

There was a man standing at the rail overlooking Cardiff Bay.

He was wearing a suit that had to have been a shade lighter than black, judging from the shading on the image.  His face was turned toward the water, and Ianto could see what looked like a developing bald spot on the crown of the man’s head, the breeze ruffling the dark hair around it. 

Ianto frowned.  There was something familiar about the way the man was standing, his shoulders slightly hunched from the way his forearms were resting on the rail. 

Then the head turned, and the dragon shook his head, completely unable to believe what he was seeing.

“Tell me that’s who mainframe thinks it is,” Toshiko challenged him.

“That,” Ianto said, shaking his head, “is Agent Phil Coulson.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, if the man in London resembles Phil Coulson so closely that it disturbed both Patrick and Clint,” he answered, “then who’s to say there isn’t another doppelganger running around?”

It was the only explanation Ianto could come up with.  Phil Coulson was dead; it hadn’t been a closed casket funeral, and unless the body they’d buried had been faked then either there was a ghost enjoying the view from the Quay…or something was very seriously wrong. 

Ianto made his decision in seconds. “I’m going up there.”

“Ianto,” Toshiko warned, “it could be some sort of trap.  After all, he’s just waiting, which means he knows we’re around.”

“Agent Coulson knew where the Hub was, as well,” Ianto pointed out. 

“Are you seriously considering it could be him?”

The dragon shrugged.  “We’ve seen a lot of strange things.”

“But you were also at the funeral.”

Yes, Ianto had been.  He’d gone with Patrick, Alice, and Steven, as the representative for the Institute and to support his family.  He recalled just how badly Margaret Coulson-Delaware had taken her brother’s death, as well as Steven, who had adored his adopted uncle.  Even Nick Fury, rest his soul, had been upset at the loss of his friend and his one good eye, and his eulogy had been particularly moving.  Unless Fury had been a consummate actor, he’d been mourning Coulson as much as anyone.

The dragon’s thoughts shied away from the memories of the abortive invasion of the Cybermen that had interrupted the service…

“As I said, we already know there’s one duplicate out there, even if he’d come from the future.”  Ianto squeezed Toshiko’s shoulder.  “It’s in our best interests to find out if this appearance is related to the one in London.”

“There’s no such thing as a coincidence,” she replied.

“There, you and I both agree.”  Ianto turned toward the autopsy bay.  “Owen!”

His shout not only brought out Torchwood’s lead medic out of his hidey hole, but Diane as well, who had obviously been down there with him, keeping Owen company.  “Hold your water, Dragon Boy,” was the answering call as the lovers joined them in the main area.  “What’s so important that you had to yell the place down?”

“We have a visitor.”  Ianto pointed at the monitor.

Owen’s eyes squinted.  “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Isn’t he in London?” Diane asked. “Because I could have sworn someone looking exactly like that man was the reason Jack had me fly him down there.”

“If that person was gone,” Toshiko said, “then Jack would have contacted us.”

“This is someone different,” Ianto said, certain he was correct.  “Owen, keep an eye on the passive Hub sensors.  They won’t tell us much beyond if this…man is human, but at least we’ll know it’s not some sort of invasion hiding behind a dead friend’s face.”

“You got it.”  Owen headed back down into his own domain, muttering imprecations under his breath about being surrounded by people who didn’t seem to want to stay dead.

Ianto couldn’t blame him one bit. 

“Call Rhys up from the storage area,” he requested of Toshiko.  “I’d like the entire team in the Hub down here just in case we’ll need back-up.  Also, be prepared to go into lockdown, because there’s a reason we have two Phil Coulsons in the same country, even if one of them is named Pendragon and appears to be from the far future.”

“Should I head down to the armoury and pick up a little something?” Diane asked.  Ianto hadn’t thought it possible, but there were times when she could be just as bloodthirsty as Patrick.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he agreed.  “Owen has his own weapon down in the autopsy bay, so you don’t have to bring him anything.  Rhys might need a weapon as well, I don’t know if he put his away last time we were on a call.”

“And I have mine in my desk,” Toshiko added.

Diane nodded, and then turned on her heel and headed off.

“Keep an eye out,” the dragon added, once again touching Toshiko on the shoulder.  “I’m going to bring Deborah down when I come back, as well.”

His friend nodded, and Ianto made his way up to the cage, through it and then the cog door, striding toward the lift and then changing his mind and taking the stairs instead.

His thoughts whirled, not staying still as he considered just what it meant to have their own Phil Coulson in Cardiff while his doppelganger was in London.  Was this man even calling himself by that name?  Could he be from another time, or was there something going on that Ianto just didn’t understand?

He’d seen Coulson’s body in its coffin.  He’d mourned the man who had become another member of the dragon’s ephemeral family.  Yes, Jack was able to return from the dead but as far as Ianto knew there wasn’t anyone else out there with the same ability. 

No, Phillip J. Coulson had died.  There was no way around that fact. 

And yet, a man closely resembling him was waiting up on the Quay, obviously there because he was aware that the Torchwood Hub was just below his feet. 

Ianto didn’t like making snap judgements if he could absolutely avoid it, and he shook his head, trying to dismiss the chaos in his mind over what he would find when he got there.

He played with the idea of calling Jack, but no.  Not yet.  His mate had enough to worry about, and there wasn’t enough information to share.  He didn’t want to take Jack’s mind off whatever was going on in London, not when Ianto was perfectly capable of handling this situation…until he wasn’t, of course, and then he had his team to fall back on. 

The dragon took a quick glance through the eye hole, checking to see if anyone was up in the Tourist Office with Deborah.  The coast was clear, and he was through the secret door in a heartbeat.

“Tosh told me we have a visitor,” Deborah said before Ianto could open his mouth.

He should have expected that.  “When we get back I’m going to have you come down to the Hub with me to make the coffee.  I want us all down there in case this is some sort of trick or trap.”

Deborah nodded her understanding, and then Ianto was out the door and striding down the boardwalk, his sharper-than-human dragon vision seeing his target all the way down the Quay.  The man was a perfect copy of Phil Coulson, and Ianto found himself wishing this person _was_ him, somehow come back from the dead, if only for Patrick and Clint’s sakes.  They’d both been devastated by Coulson’s death, and to give them back just a bit of that happiness would be worth it, in Ianto’s opinion.

The closer he got, however, Ianto knew something wasn’t right.  A gradual tingling across his mind grew until he could no longer ignore it; it wasn’t at all like the rain-shower fall of the Rift, or the itching caused by Jack’s proximity…no, this was something different.  Something that should have been familiar, but the dragon was having a problem identifying it.

He stopped just next to the man who so closely resembled his lost friend.  The copy – or Coulson, Ianto simply couldn’t tell on first perusal – didn’t turn to look as Ianto settled in next to him, one arm on the railing and his body facing in the man’s direction.  “Well,” Ianto began, “this is certainly a surprise.  By the way, I do happen to believe in ghosts, so I can guarantee there won’t be an exorcism.”

The man huffed a laugh.  “I can assure you I’m not a ghost.”

“The next question is…then just what are you?”

The man didn’t look at all fazed by that.  “I could use the entire ‘rumours of my death’ speech, but I think that would just be a bit crass, don’t you?” He finally turned his head to regard Ianto.

It _was_ Phil Coulson, or so good a copy that there would be no way to tell the difference with a visual inspection.  “Yes, especially since the last time I saw you, you were in your coffin.”

That statement caused an almost minute flinch in his visitor.  Ianto wasn’t sure how he felt about striking such an obvious nerve.  “It’s not a pretty story.”

“Then why don’t we talk over coffee?”

“That sounds good.  I’m feeling a little exposed out here.”

_HYDRA could be watching,_ was the unspoken follow-up to that comment.

Ianto stepped away from the railing, holding his arm out in the direction of the Tourist Office.  “You could have just come in, since you know the way down,” he said calmly as together they walked back the way Ianto had come.

“I wasn’t certain of my welcome, so I decided I’d wait until someone came to me. I knew you keep tabs on the crowds around the area, so it was only a matter of time before someone noticed me.”

That made sense.  “We wouldn’t have turned you over to HYDRA, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, I never thought that.  However, it’s not every day someone comes back to life.”

Ianto couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  “You seem to have forgotten who my boss is.”

A faint smirk decorated Coulson’s lips.  “Touché.”

Ianto had to admit, this person was very much like the Phil Coulson he’d known and shared quite a few conversations with over the years of Coulson being the liaison to Torchwood on behalf of SHIELD.  He and Coulson had talked about many things, mostly having to do with Patrick of course, but they’d also gained a respect for each other and Ianto had been happy to include him in his family, especially after Patrick and Alice’s wedding. 

He held the door open for their guest.  “Deborah,” the dragon said, as if he hadn’t already told her what he wanted her to do, “can you come down to the Hub with us?  I’m sure our visitor wouldn’t mind some coffee.”

“Certainly,” the young woman said brightly.  She used the remote lock under the desk to secure the outer door, and then pushed the button to open the secret passage.  “After you, gentlemen?”

“I’m a little disappointed,” the Coulson with them said as they entered the passageway toward the lift, “I was hoping for some of the real thing, as it were.”

Ianto let him into the lift first, the fact that this person knew about his coffee skills was just another check mark in the column marked, ‘real Coulson’.  Not a lot of people knew that.

“I taught Deborah everything she knows,” Ianto said, as the lift doors closed, and the car slid smoothly downward. 

“And I know where Ianto keeps the good biscuits,” she proclaimed, a wide smile on her face, her dimples in full view.  “It’s a secret stash, in order to keep Owen from locating them whenever he wants.”

The smirk had turned into a smile.  “Well, far be it from to turn down the offer of the good biscuits.”

The dragon escorted the man who looked like Phil Coulson out of the lift, down the corridor, and into the Hub, the cog door alarming as it rolled aside to let them inside.  “You remember Toshiko,” Ianto said as they passed his technical genius’ station. 

“Of course,” Coulson answered politely, nodding in Toshiko’s direction.

She gave him a welcoming smile.  “Welcome back from the dead,” Toshiko greeted, not giving away her doubt and concern.

“And Rhys,” the dragon motioned toward his Logistical Officer, who’d made it up from the storage rooms, where he’d been laying in the morning’s order of supplies.  He was at his desk, not even pretending to be working as his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. 

There was a wry twist to Coulson’s lips, but he also made the same little head nod as they moved toward the office.

“Owen and Diane are…well, we’ve learned not to interrupt them when they’re down in the medical area together,” Ianto went on, as Deborah headed toward the kitchenette and them into Jack’s office.  He motioned toward the visitor’s chair, while he made himself at home behind the large desk that he and Jack had begun sharing.

Coulson made himself at home in the offered chair, unbuttoning his suit jacket and then smoothing down his tie and shirt as he sat.  Ianto watched him carefully, trying to read his body language, needing more clues as to how to proceed.  There was still that something about the person sitting across from him, a niggling sense of a familiar power, but just beyond his grasp. 

Ianto met Coulson’s gaze, and unwittingly his eyes changed into their dragon aspect.  His guest didn’t flinch, didn’t change how he simply watched Ianto, not afraid of the dragon at all, his face perfectly calm.

There was an aura of _blue_ , an aura that had not been there the last time he’d seen Coulson in person.  It was a sliver of power that glowed faintly against the background of Rift energy that permeated the very air of the Hub.  It flickered like a miniature St Elmo’s fire in this Coulson’s eyes, invisible to anyone else who didn’t have Ianto’s senses…

His magical senses.

How had he not recognised this?

In that moment, the Earth Dragon’s song swirled through Ianto’s mind, a rumbling symphony of acceptance that had him relaxing back in his chair, knowing that whatever happened in the future Ianto would always trust that this was Phillip Coulson, a friend who’d just happened to die in order to try to save the world, and brought back some way that had to do with magic.

That, of course, begged the question of just who the man in London really was related to, and what he had to do with the man sitting opposite him.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

 

“I’m here to pick up a passenger,” Hart said as Mickey searched him.  He was being rough about it, but the ex-Time Agent seemed to be enjoying the manhandling.  “I understand you have a certain visitor from the 52nd century hidden around here somewhere.”

Patrick frowned.  This was just too surreal.  “And how do you know him?” he demanded, his thumb softly stroking his gun’s safety on and off…on and off…trying very hard to push down the urge to just shoot Hart on principle.

“Never met him,” Hart admitted cheerfully.  He jerked as Mickey poked under his ubiquitous Napoleonic-ear jacket.  “Hey, watch it sweet cheeks, I’m ticklish!”

Mickey didn’t even react.  But then, he was used to Jack’s behaviour, so anything Hart brought out would just roll off Patrick’s secondary team leader’s back.

“What do you mean,” Jack growled, “you’ve never met him?”

“Nope,” Hart said, smacking at Mickey’s wrist.  “I’m doing this as a favour for the sister of my girlfriend, ‘cause I like my family jewels right where they are, and I don’t want to give up all the fantastically kinky sex I’ve been getting lately.”

Ah, there was that headache Patrick thought he’d gotten rid of.  “And that has to do with what, exactly?”  There was something off about this story, and it wasn’t just because it was coming from John fucking Hart.

“Try to keep up, gorgeous!  Your Shieldsman is my girlfriend’s uncle, and she knew I had a working Vortex Manipulator, so she kinda talked me into coming back and picking him up.  Her sister gave me a code phrase to identify myself with.  In exchange…” Hart shrugged, leering.  “Let’s just say my lady’s got it in spades, and I intend to collect the debt in sexual favours…which she’s always glad to pay up.”  He gave Josh a smouldering glance, his eyes dragging up his body despite the gun that was still pointing in the direction of Hart’s head.  “Too bad I can’t take you back with me, tall, dark, and dangerous; because I bet she’d gladly offer a threesome if I had you along for the ride.”

Josh’s slow, pleased grin was a treat to see.  “I’m being hit on by a _dick_.”

“Just when you thought your life was complete,” Mickey remarked as he stepped away from Hart, all sorts of weapons in his arms.  He began shoving them into the backpack he always carried with him.

“I know!”

“Say that we believe you,” Jack cut in, his eyes glittering in suspicion, “then just how did he get back here?”

“I only know what I was told, and it wasn’t much,” Hart admitted.  “Something happened at the Imperial Palace, and wham!” He clapped his hands together sharply, and to the team’s credit no one jumped at the sudden noise.  “Our little lost lamb is gone.  Apparently I don’t need to know a lot to be a temporal shuttle service.”

There was something that rang hollow in Hart’s story, but Patrick couldn’t tell what.  “You’re going to have to be a hell of a lot more convincing if you think we’re handing just anyone over to you.”

“Did anyone ever tell you paranoia is sexy?”

Patrick wasn’t about to lower himself to Hart’s level.  “Give me one good reason why I should give you anything, let alone a person you don’t even know.”

Hart stared at him for a few seconds, and then he sighed, his shoulders slumping.  “I can’t.” He seemed genuinely disappointed that he couldn’t answer.

Jack stared at him shrewdly.  “Timelines?”

“I might be an arse,” Hart admitted, “but even I try to keep to the laws of Time, Jack.  You know that.”

Patrick glanced at his father-in-law.  Jack nodded slightly at his look, enough of a confirmation for him that Hart was actually telling the truth for a change.  He didn’t appear happy about it, which told Patrick more than it probably should.  Jack Harkness might dislike John Hart intensely, but there was still a history there; they’d known each other for a long time, had run a lot of missions together as Time Agents.  For Jack, Hart was what he could have become if not for the Doctor and Rose Tyler, and for him it was as if he was looking into a warped mirror, seeing himself as he was meant to be instead of what he was now. 

Ianto didn’t believe that, of course.  Patrick had been a witness to a couple such conversations on that subject, and knew his other father-in-law had very deep feelings about his mate’s destiny.  To Ianto, this was how Jack was supposed to be, and not however badly he saw himself.  Alice agreed with Ianto, as did Patrick and pretty much everyone in Cardiff, London, and Glasgow who were acquainted well enough with their Director to be aware of just how good a man he was. 

Ianto and Alice could both become quite fierce on the topic.

Jack’s stance on timelines was something he would not budge from.  It had become ingrained with his indoctrination into the Time Agency reinforced by his travels with the Doctor, and Patrick had to guess that Hart had been through the same sort of indoctrination.  No matter how corrupt the Agency became, there were rules, according to Jack, that they simply would not break.

Patrick had to accept it; they weren’t going to get anything else out of Hart about their visitor. 

Jack had stepped away, his phone up to his ear.  Patrick didn’t even have to hear any part of the conversation to know that he was calling his mate, to explain to Ianto what was going on.  He’d noticed that about the pair; how they always relied on each other to bring things into focus, tossing ideas at one another until a picture could be intimated by whatever small bits of information they had.  They also included the team in on these sessions, and it was one of the many reasons Patrick loved working for Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones: their willingness to include and adapt to their teams’ opinions.

But this conversation didn’t seem to last very long at all.

Patrick didn’t miss Jack suddenly going pale, his entire body completely still as if any movement would disturb whatever thoughts were roiling in his head.  Mickey also noticed, as did Hart; Josh, seeing that everyone was distracted, moved just enough to glance over at their boss while keeping his gun firmly pointed at Hart’s nose.

Jack was unnaturally still for so long Patrick wasn’t even sure his father-in-law was still breathing.  But just as everyone began staring at him, he jerked forward a half-step, and barked, “Keep him there.  I’ll call you back.”  He disconnected the call so hard it was a wonder he didn’t break either his finger, or the screen of his phone.

Then he glared at Hart, who managed to pull off innocent despite Patrick knowing better.  “Whatever it was, it wasn’t me,” he exclaimed, crossing his arms and pouting.

Instead of arguing the point, Jack growled, “We should get back to base.”  He didn’t even bother giving any other directions; he simply stormed past the group and toward the roof access door.

Something was up.

“Handcuff him and let’s get the hell out of here,” Patrick sighed. 

“Cuffs? Really?” Hart actually appeared to like the idea.  He held his hands out for Mickey, who had taken a zip tie out of his jacket pocket.  “Oh, now those are just cheap knock-offs,” Hart complained, yet he acquiesced to his hands being bound together.  ‘Do you know how hard it is to have a good time in zip-cuffs?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Mickey grumbled, cinching them just a bit tighter than they needed to be judging from Hart’s wordless shout.

“We better catch up with Jack,” Josh suggested.  He lowered his gun, but he didn’t put the weapon away.  Good man.

“Let’s go.”  Mickey grabbed Hart by the arm and practically dragged him away, the time traveller making lewd comments about rough sex all the way.

Patrick followed, Josh falling into step beside him.  “You got a clue what’s bugging our fearless leader?  Besides the fact that his asshole seems to know what buttons to push.”

“No idea,” Patrick shrugged. “Something must be going on back in Cardiff.  And even that weren’t the case, Jack would still be pissed off at Hart just on general principles.”

 “Yeah, I read the report.”  Josh held the door open for Patrick, pulling it shut once they were in the stairwell.  From below, Patrick could still hear Hart griping. “Do you believe his reason for being here?”

“Strangely, I do.”  Their footsteps on the concrete almost drowned out Hart’s strident voice.  “And I’m pretty sure Jack does, too.  It’s just a bizarre enough story that it could very well be plausible.”  He rubbed his forehead.  “We all know Jack comes across as flighty to complete strangers, but we’ve been witness to just how quickly he can put things together.  He had that look on his face when he vanished back downstairs…that he was working things out.  I don’t know what’s going on in Cardiff, but I think Jack thinks it’s connected with Hart…and with our visitor.”

“Coincidence doesn’t go hand in hand with this job,” Josh commented.  “We’d better hurry before they leave without us.”

Patrick snorted.  “Yeah, and just because I have the keys doesn’t mean crap.” He knew for a fact that Mickey could hotwire pretty much any vehicle, and Jack had his wrist strap.  The SUV’s dead lock seals wouldn’t stand a chance.

They were in the lobby and close to the building’s front doors – and being stared at with varying expressions of curiosity, awe, and terror – when Patrick’s comm chimed. 

He reached up and activated it.  “What’s up?” he asked, pushing the glassed-in door open and holding it for Josh, who was also toggling on his own comm.

_“We got an energy signal near Piccadilly,”_ Martha’s voice reported.  _“I’m taking Tom, Eion, and Clyde to check it out.”_

“Okay.  Keep me posted.”

_“Will do.”_ The faint click of the comm turning off signalled Martha disconnecting.   

“That leaves Clint, Luke, Tish, and Rani in the Hub,” Josh commented, climbing into the rear of the SUV along with Mickey and Hart, who was sprawling as much as possible as if daring either man to say something about it...or to offer to sit in his lap.

“We definitely need to get back,” Jack said, and Patrick knew he’d overheard the comm call as well. 

“Only one there with any real weapons training,” Mickey mused, pushing Hart’s leg aside.

Patrick knew immediately what Mickey was getting at: if someone was coming back to take Pendragon, this would have been the perfect time.  With the place empty, anyone could strike and, while Patrick trusted Clint with his life, if the four there were outnumbered…

He got behind the wheel, and managed to break every traffic law on the books in his rush to get back to the Hub2, while calling in every team member he could get in touch with.

As it was, they were too late.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_Cardiff_ **

 

 

The silence in the office was broken by a single question.  “How are they?”

Ianto blinked the dragon away, smiling as he leaned back forward, lifting the picture frame that Jack kept on the cluttered desk.  He passed it over, and Phil accepted it, looking down on the photo, smiling sadly.

He ran his finger along the frame, looking longingly at the photograph of Patrick, Clint, and Steven, all gathered around a tired looking yet beaming Alice, who was cuddling the newest addition to their family, taken right after the proud mother and daughter had been released from the hospital.  “I wanted to be there,” he murmured.

Ianto nodded, recalling just how excited Phil had been about the prospect of being an uncle once more, since Patrick had officially adopted Steven.

“Are you going to London?” Ianto asked quietly.  “To see them?”

“I have to, only I’ve most likely left it for too late.”  Phil handed the frame back, and Ianto replaced it in its preferred space. 

“What happened?  Why didn’t you let them know you were alive?”  

Phil sighed, slumping down a little into his seat.  He opened his mouth, obviously to answer, but was interrupted when Deborah came in, carrying a tray where two mugs of coffee sat, along with the milk and sugar bowls and a plate of biscuits that she sat down onto the desk.  “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked, giving them both a smile.

“No, thank you,” Ianto said, exchanging smiles.  “Although you can please shut the door on the way out…and tell the team to stand down.  We’ll be fine.”

There was a minute shifting in Deborah’s demeanour, and her smile was just that much more genuine.  She turned that on Phil.  “Again, welcome back, Agent Coulson.  We’re glad you’re here and we’ll help in whatever way we can.”

Phil’s smile matched hers.  “Thank you, Ms Morrison.”

“It’s Deborah, please.”  With those parting words, she left them alone, pulling the door closed softly. 

“Alright,” the SHIELD agent said, helping himself to the coffee, “why suddenly do you believe I’m who I say I am?  It was fairly obvious you weren’t sure before you gave me the dragon eyes of doom.”

Ianto shook his head, laughing.  “You’re not the first one to call them that.”

“Let me guess…it was Barton, wasn’t it?”

“Actually, it was Owen first.  But yes, Clint has said the same thing to me.”  Mentioning Clint’s name brought Ianto back to seriousness.  “I’m actually still putting things together,” he confessed.  “There’s something very different about you, I can see it…but I can’t explain it yet.  Perhaps if you could explain how you’re alive, when I know it was your corpse in that coffin at your memorial…”

Phil took a sip of his coffee, sighing as he pulled the mug away from his lips, holding it in both hands.  “I really was dead for days.  The procedures used to resurrect me were agonising, immoral, and while I’m grateful to be alive it’s not something I would wish on anyone else.  I’m still suffering from…effects of it all, from what I remember about it.  There was some erasing of my memories as well, and I eventually did beg to die.”

He’d gone pale, and it was all Ianto could do not to get up from his seat and offer some form of physical comfort, but he knew that Phil wasn’t the touchy-feely sort and wouldn’t appreciate it.  “Is that why you didn’t let Patrick and Clint know you were alive?  You didn’t remember them?”

“No, I can’t hide behind that.  It was more the fact that I didn’t feel like myself for a long time, and I wasn’t certain what that meant.  By the time I did realise what had been done to me, SHIELD had fallen and it was just too dangerous to draw attention to my family by revealing myself.  I wasn’t about to put them in the line of fire.”

Ianto had to agree with that.  His family was much too important to him not to protect them in any way he could.  “Tell them that when you see them,” he urged.  “They’re going to be angry, but I’m sure they’ll forgive you.  They both love you far too much to hold it against you.”

“I do hope you’re right,” Phil answered.

The dragon didn’t say anything to that.  Instead, he asked, “What brings you to Torchwood?”

The change in subject seemed to relax his guest, judging from the way he leaned further back in his chair, still cradling his mug of coffee.  His eyes went from concerned to determined, almost like an internal switch was flipped.  “Before SHIELD fell, there were certain agreements between us and Torchwood.  I wanted to check to see if those agreements would still be honoured.”

That brought a smile to Ianto’s face.  “Am I correct in assuming that there’s some sort of rebuilding happening, then?”

Phil nodded.  “I’ve been tasked with bringing SHIELD back the way it should have been from the beginning.”

“Should I congratulate you, Director?”

“I don’t know about that.”  He looked slightly embarrassed, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening to him.  “But yes, I’m now Director of SHIELD…what’s left of it.”

“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.”  Ianto set his own mug down onto the desk, leaning forward.  “There are a few things you might want to know about though.”

Phil didn’t say anything; he just lifted an eyebrow and waited.

“Her Majesty wasn’t at all pleased with what happened at the Triskelion,” the dragon went on.  “She understands that HYDRA had to be exposed, but she doesn’t agree with how it was done, especially with the burning of so many loyal SHIELD agents at the expense of outing the rot within SHIELD itself.  As she put it, ‘You don’t kill the patient in order to destroy a cancer’.  It doesn’t help that she personally knew Peggy Carter and genuinely respected her, and even referred several people to her when things were just starting out.  Also, when Captain America and the Black Widow so thoroughly exposed SHIELD’s secrets, there were also files pertaining to Torchwood released to the general public…which is an act of treason on British soil.  Toshiko managed to re-capture much of what was dumped, but not before Torchwood House was compromised to several agencies that had no business knowing about our main archive.”

He could read the flinch Phil gave as a combination of sympathetic and horrific.  He didn’t have to say anything, because Ianto knew that his visitor was aware of just what was being stored up at Torchwood House.

“We had to arrest a certain Colonel Talbot and his strike team before the other agencies got it into their thick heads that Torchwood wasn’t about to roll over and play dead for them,” Ianto said.  “Our main London team personally escorted Talbot and his men off, warning them that if they tried it again they would be incarcerated for life.  It’s put Torchwood into a position we would never have been in if Captain Rogers and Ms Romanoff hadn’t taken the steps they did, and Her Majesty is going to declare them _persona_ _non_ _grata_ to the British Empire.  If they ever set foot into the country or any of its territories they will be arrested and tried for treason.  In fact, she has a meeting scheduled with the UN next month in order to explain Great Britain’s stance regarding SHIELD and HYDRA.”

“And just what is her stance?”  There was a glimmer of hope in Phil’s eyes.

“Her Majesty feels that the entire situation was mis-handled.  She is going to publicly announce that every and any SHIELD agent who was left in the wind will be welcome within the UK as long as they pass a check using Torchwood’s own lie detector, and possibly our mind probe as well if the results from the lie detector come out inconclusive.  Their families are welcome as well.”  He sighed.  “There have been cases of harassment by security forces against the innocent families of outed SHIELD agents.  I’m sure you’ve had reports of it.”

Phil nodded.  “We’ve tried to help as best we can, but there aren’t that many of us and we’re stretched thin as it is.”  He paused.  “No one’s tried to do anything to my family, have they?”

Ianto shook his head.  “No, everyone’s alright.  We do know one of Talbot’s other mission parameters – besides getting into Torchwood House – was to try and apprehend Clint because of his former associations with SHIELD and for what happened with Loki.”

Phil went pale.  “But you said he was okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Ianto reassured him.  “The closest Talbot got was the arrow that Clint shot into the tarmac at the local RAF base as they were boarding a military transport out of the country.  We would have fought for him if it had come to it, you know that.”

“Yes, I do.”  Phil regained some of his colour.  “There aren’t many people I’d trust with the welfare of my family, and you and Harkness are two of them.”

Ianto felt warm at the confidence that was being placed in him.  “We would do nothing to betray that trust.  They’re our family as well.” He leaned back, smiling.  “I’m looking forward to letting Her Majesty know just who’s in charge of SHIELD now.  She’ll be very pleased.”

“And we need all the allies we can get.  Please thank her for me.”

“I will, but chances are she’ll want to speak to you herself at some point.  She won’t interfere, don’t worry about that, but she will want to offer aid to you personally.”

“Well,” Phil said dryly, “that’s not at all intimidating.”

The dragon grinned.  “She really is a sweetheart…unless you make her mad, of course.  Then it’s like watching a force of nature.  There are times when I wished she worked for Torchwood, because I believe she’d make a Dalek quake in its armour.”

They shared a laugh, and then Ianto cocked his head, regarding his friend closely.  “Are you safe where you are?”

The faint smile that decorated Phil’s face was sweet to see.  “We have a base.  It’s secret, and only Fury knew about it, so we should be fine.  I have a team, and it’s growing slowly.  I can trust them.”

“Good.  Just remember, if you need to, you can always come here.  We’ll watch your back.”

“I appreciate that, especially after one of my original team turned out to be HYDRA.  He’s now a ‘guest’ in my basement.”

Ianto could have guessed that; HYDRA had been everywhere.  “We had one at Torchwood House, and one in London.”

“Which agents were they?”

“Laura Paulson, based in London; and Dr Peter MacBride, at Torchwood House.  Paulson won’t be spying on anyone ever again, not in her condition…as for MacBride, well…you don’t make a break toward Loch Ness when there’s a hungry monster waiting.  There wasn’t enough of him left to fill a child’s beach pail.”

“Is it so wrong of me to hope that Nessie didn’t get indigestion?” Phil asked fiercely.

“Not at all, and she was fine.  It didn’t even affect the milk our resident Zygons use for their nutrition.”  They’d acquired a small colony of the shape-changing aliens after whatever happened last year in London, before the last of the Black Archives had been closed down.  They’d been somewhat resistant at first to being relocated, but the treaty that the Zygon leader and Kate Stewart had brokered was still holding strong.  It had helped that the Skarasen that had long lived in the loch was amenable to having a new group of Zygons milking her once more.

There were even two Zygon scientists currently working at Torchwood House. 

It had been almost impossible to get Josh Gates back to London after he met Nessie, he’d been so infatuated with her.  He’d gone around for days with the dopiest smile on his face and muttering things like, “I was right,” and “She does exist.”  Copies of the videos that Patrick had taken of him were safe and well on the mainframe, and there was even a photograph floating around of Josh petting Nessie on the snout.  It was adorable.

“Jeff Cable and Cassandra Conover are still in London,” Ianto went on.  “They’ve become invaluable members of our tertiary team.  However, if they choose to go back to your new SHIELD then we won’t stand in their way.”  He would hate to see the pair go; they worked hard, and were in the midst of investigating the underground alien weapons trade, but the dragon would respect their decisions.  They both had been SHIELD agents a lot longer than Torchwood operatives, and he wouldn’t try to get them to stay if they decided to return to their old positions.

“I appreciate that,” Phil said warmly, “but I think they’d be much better off staying with Torchwood.  Of course, I won’t decide for them, but SHIELD isn’t what it used to be, and I do believe they’d be happier in London than going dark with us.”  He thought for a moment. “In fact, I’m wondering if Fitz wouldn’t be happier back at Torchwood House than with us.”

Ianto’s heart thumped hard, once, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his features.  “Leo Fitz is alive?”  He remembered the young engineer from his six months at Torchwood House with his partner, Jemma Simmons, and had been very close to offering them both positions within Torchwood if they hadn’t been recalled back to SHIELD before he could get the paperwork settled.  And, when records for both of them had completely vanished from every server but mainframe and from the internet, they’d all been particularly worried.

“He and Simmons, both,” Phil answered.  “Although the HYDRA agent that had been on my team tried his hardest to kill them.”  He swallowed.  “Simmons is fine, but Fitz suffered brain damage.  He has some issues with expressing his thoughts, he talks to himself, and he withdraws from people.  We’ve tried everything we can to get him out of his shell, but nothing seems to work.”

That made the dragon within threaten to come out and destroy something.  Leo Fitz had been a gentle soul, and he certainly didn’t deserve what had apparently happened to him.  “And you say this HYDRA agent is in your basement?” he growled, unable to keep his dragon-ness out his words.

“He is.” Phil didn’t look at all bothered by the show of temper.

“I would offer to eat him for you, but that would be too quick.”

“While I appreciate the thought, we’re hoping to get information out of him, although he’s being very uncooperative.  He’s formed an attachment to another member of my team, and insists he’ll only talk to her, but I don’t want him to gain any more power over Skye than he has already.  Whatever he knows isn’t worth damaging her over.”

Ianto got the distinct impression that his young lady meant quite a lot more to Phil than he was letting on, but he wasn’t getting a romantic vibe from it, which was good news for Clint if the archer decided to get back into a relationship with the man…which Ianto thought could be a distinct possibility from what he knew about the archer’s feelings. 

It seemed as if Phil had gained his own family just as Torchwood was its own close-knit group.

“We may be able to help you with that.  We do have certain pieces of equipment that make gaining information very easy.”

“The aforementioned mind probe?”

“Exactly.  We’re perfectly willing to lend you help and equipment, and if that happens to include our mind probe…”

Ianto’s phone ringing interrupted what he was going to say. 

He glanced at the caller ID, and saw it was Jack calling.  “I need to take this,” he excused himself.  “I’ll have Deborah bring in some more coffee.”  He stood as he answered the call.  “What’s going on?” he asked as he made his way out of the office.  He motioned to Deborah, who was standing by Rhys’ desk, and she got the hint immediately, making her way back to the kitchenette.

_“Hart’s here,”_ Jack said without preamble.

Ianto couldn’t help but curse.  He’d thought Hart long gone after that mess with Jack’s brother, Gray.  “What does he want?”

_“Seems he’s here for our guest.”_

That didn’t sit well with the dragon.  “Something’s going on, Jack.”

_“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”_ He sounded frustrated, and Ianto couldn’t blame him.

“Then let me tell you something you _don’t_ know.”  He’d been so caught up with Phil Coulson’s visit that he really hadn’t thought about what was going on in London for a while.  “I have Phil Coulson in our office…a very much alive Phil Coulson, and he’s here to ask for our support as he’s rebuilding SHIELD.”

There was silence on the other end; it wasn’t often that Jack was struck speechless.  Ianto was beginning to wonder if they hadn’t somehow gotten disconnected – and with their mobile network running on the former Archangel Network, that was practically impossible – when Jack spoke once more.

_“Keep him there.  I’ll call you back.”_

Then his mate hung up.

Ianto pulled the phone from his ear, staring at the now-blank screen as if he thought it would hold the answers he needed.  He frowned and tucked the phone back into his jacket pocket to prevent himself from calling Jack back and demanding to know what the hell was going on.

“Ianto?” Toshiko’s voice brought his eyes toward her, where she was still seated at her workstation.  She looked concerned, and he couldn’t blame her really.

He took those several steps over to her area, not even realising he was chewing on his lip until he bit down just a little too hard.  “Something’s up,” he told her quietly.  “Hart’s in London.”

Toshiko said something not at all polite in Japanese.  “I thought we’d seen the last of him.”

“So did I.”  It had taken months to clean things up after Gray’s rampage through Cardiff, and that was even after they’d managed to keep the damage down.  Both Owen and Patrick had needed physical therapy after Gray had shot the pair of them, and that wasn’t even counting the nearly two thousand years Jack had spent buried under Cardiff before he’d been recovered.  Yes, Hart had been under Gray’s control with that explosive device that he’d worn, but it had been obvious that the ex-Time Agent had enjoyed some of what Gray had made him do. 

“Jack did say he was there to get their visitor,” the dragon added.

Toshiko’s eyes darted toward Jack’s office, where Phil awaited.  “Are you sure he’s Phil Coulson?”

“Yes, absolutely.”  He had no doubt at all over Phil Coulson’s identity. It was difficult to explain, but he’d try if his friend asked.

To Toshiko’s credit, she didn’t.  “And what about the man in London?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.  But you and I both know there’s no such thing as a coincidence.”  Phil Coulson and Phillip Pendragon were connected, Ianto just didn’t know how.  And now with John Hart back on the scene and in the middle of it all… “I want us on partial lockdown.  Can you do it without the bells and whistles?”

“Sure, no problem.”  Her fingers began working her keyboard.

“I also want the scanners set so that any intruder in the Hub sends us into total lockdown,” he instructed.  “That includes your time bubble.” Any time travellers wouldn’t be able to get through the bubble and would be trapped inside the Hub, and perhaps easier to take down.

She nodded.  “Understood.”

“Good.  I’m going back up to the office.  Let me know if anything strange happens.”

“This is Torchwood,” Toshiko snorted.  “Strange is a way of life.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Ianto shook his head as he strode back up to the office where Deborah was just exiting with her empty tray.  She looked at him, her eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head toward Toshiko.  The young woman was sharp and understood the silent cue immediately.

Ianto passed her, and walked back into the office.  Phil was sitting, relaxed, with his fresh coffee in hand. “Is there a problem?” he asked, concerned.

Ianto sat down with a sigh.  “Jack’s in London.  There’s something going on there; one of our former enemies is back, but he’s claiming to be on a mission that should be a good thing but we all know him far too well to trust that.  You may have heard of the man…Captain John Hart.”

Judging from the anger that flashed across Phil’s face, he had indeed been privy to those reports.  “He’s the one who was responsible for getting my nephew shot, as well as destroying large chunks of Cardiff.”

“Yes he was.  He’s Jack’s former partner in the Time Agency, and Jack hopes to be able to control him.”  Jack didn’t say as much to Ianto, but the dragon knew his mate, and figured Jack would do everything in his power to keep Hart to heel. He also wasn’t about to reveal that there was a Phil Coulson look-a-like in London who had been stranded from the future who was seemingly involved with Hart.  That was something Ianto was still wrapping his own head around.

Instead, he deflected.  “So, let’s talk about just how Torchwood can help SHIELD with its rebuilding…”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

 

The main area of the Hub2 looked as if a whirlwind had passed through it.

Patrick stood with his hands on his hips, examining the scene with an eye that would have done a crime scene investigator proud.  There were papers scattered from several of the desks, littering the concrete floor like some bizarre form of snow.  Two of the desks had been forcibly moved from their former positions, and nearly every chair in the room had been knocked over.  It had been a hell of a struggle, and Patrick was surprised at the lack of blood that he saw, more than the mess that had been made of his headquarters in the short time they’d been gone.

Clint’s bow was under one of the desks.  It must have been tossed there, although either before or after the fight Patrick couldn’t readily tell.  But its presence there, and the lack of presence of its owner, worried Patrick more than he could express.

Luke and Rani were fine; they only had minor bruises from being tossed around.  The men who’d teleported into the base had thrown them into a storage room and had locked them in, keeping them away from whatever had happened within the Hub2 itself.  He was so very grateful, because while both could take care of themselves one loss was more than enough.

“Did you get anything?” he asked Mickey, who was busily running a scanner around the trashed room.

“Temporal traces,” Mickey reported.  “More than one.  They were outnumbered, that’s for sure.”

That didn’t really need to be said.  Patrick was well aware of just how deadly Clint was, and while he didn’t really know the first thing about their ‘guest’, just from what he’d witnessed and from what Jack had shared with them about the Shieldsmen, he could guess that Pendragon was just as deadly…if not deadlier. It would have taken more than a knock-down, drag-out fight to get them to surrender.

He didn’t need to see the Hub2’s CCTV system to know what that would have been.

With a sigh, he made his way toward the infirmary area, needing to know if Tish was alright.

Tish had been knocked unconscious, but despite the darkening bruise on her forehead she seemed more pissed off than in pain.  She was seated on the examination table, letting Martha examine her. As he entered, he just caught her telling Eion to back off because he was trying hover over her too much;  they may not have worked out as a couple, but they were still great friends. “Those bastards just appeared out of nowhere,” she hissed as Martha flashed a light in her eyes to check for dilation.  “Damnit sis, that’s bright!” She tried to push Martha’s hand down, but it wasn’t working.

“Hold still,” Martha chided.  “I need to make sure you don’t have concussion.”

“What else?” Jack asked calmly…way too calmly, if Patrick had to admit.  His father-in-law had been the first to enter the Hub2, gun drawn, and he’d been the one to find Tish slumped on the ground next to her terminal.  Patrick knew how protective he was over the Joneses, so Jack had to have been fuming inside.

“Like I said, they just appeared,” Tish went on, submitting to her sister’s poking and prodding with ill grace, shifting on the hard table in order to make herself more comfortable.  “There were eight of them, all pretty non-descript except they all wore a mishmash of clothing.  One of them was dressed like some sort of monk out of the Middle Ages!  But they all carried weapons, kinda like that sonic blaster we picked up in one of the black market raids.”

Jack nodded.  “If they’re from the same time as Pendragon, then that would make sense.”

Patrick and his small team – with Hart in tow – had arrived back at the Hub2 first, followed quickly by the group Martha had taken out to find the signal out in Piccadilly and then the majority of the tertiary team.  Not wanting to take a chance, he’d sent Erisa, Santiago, and Genevieve back out to check out the signal as soon as they’d arrived, followed by Jeff and Cassie as back-up.  It had turned out to be a hoax; some small device that had put out the signal that Luke’s sensors had picked up, which hadn’t surprised Patrick at all, meaning that whoever had attacked the Hub2 had meant to draw most of the team away in order to get easier access and had most likely had the place under some form of surveillance.

They’d managed to locate Tish and Luke and Rani quickly enough, but Clint had been missing.  Patrick wondered why their resident archer had been taken, and if he had to guess it had been because of whatever fracas had occurred in the main work area.

Or else as leverage, against either Torchwood or Pendragon he couldn’t say.

“I know Clint tried to take them down, and he did manage to get a couple, but…” Tish shook her head.  “I don’t remember anything after that at all.  It’s all a blank.”

Probably when she’d gotten hit over the head, Patrick mused to himself.  “Luke’s bringing up the internal cameras now,” he said.  “We’ll know what happened then.”

As if on cue, Luke’s voice came over the comms, saying he had the recordings up and ready.  Patrick’s heart thumped painfully, hoping what they were about to see wasn’t worse than what he was already imagining.

The entirety of Torchwood London gathered in the lab, standing around the largest view screen in the Hub2.  Luke fidgeted, eyes darting around to everyone around him, looking quite upset.  Whatever he’d seen on the CCTV had bothered him, no doubt about it. 

“Play it,” Patrick ordered softly, a part of him dreading what was about to appear on the screen.

The young man nodded sharply, finger touching the embedded keyboard in the top of the holotable. 

The screen lit up, showing the main area of the Hub2 from an angle and downward.  “Rani and I were in the lab,” Luke said, as the recording began.  Rani nodded in agreement. “This is new to us, too…at least this part of things. I…saw some of it, when I was rewinding to the nearest timestamp before the attack…” He shrugged helplessly, and Patrick considered that he might be feeling guilty about being caught so easily.  He’d need to have a talk with the young man when this was all over because, if two highly-trained men had been taken, then Luke really hadn’t stood a chance.

The picture was of Tish at her station, doing something at her computer.  She said something too low for anyone to hear, and Luke turned up the volume without being prompted. 

_“– don’t understand why you have to hover up there like that,”_ she was complaining, although there was a fond note to her voice.  _“It’s not like it’s a new view to you.”_

There was a laugh off-screen, and Patrick recognised it instantly, knowing that its owner would be perched high up in the exposed steel rafters of the former warehouse. _“You know I see better from a distance,”_ Clint said teasingly. _“And this way I can look down your –“_

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a loud banging sound coming from somewhere off camera.  _“What the hell –“_ Tish managed before there were several flashes of light, and eight people suddenly appeared around the main area, all dressed as she’d described and holding sonic blasters.

Two were down with arrows in them before anyone could react, disappearing before they could hit the floor.  Then, three of the intruders aimed their weapons toward the ceiling, firing almost in unison.   There was no shout of pain or sound of falling body, so Patrick assumed they’d missed Clint entirely.

Tish cried out, but her hand was moving toward her desk drawer where Patrick knew she kept her gun.  She didn’t make it; the stranger closest to her, looking like something out of some period drama only with a metallic belt around his waist, swung what appeared to be a baton of some sort and it connected with her forehead, knocking her down.  He then stood over her prone form, pointing his gun at her. 

_“Come down,”_ one of them called, his words a sing-song of a strange accent that Patrick couldn’t identify.  _“Come down or we’ll kill her.”_ He sounded smug, and the grin on his face was evident even in the slightly grainy video as he motioned to the floor with his weapon. 

Clint dropped into frame, and another of the intruders practically tore the bow from his hands, flinging it aside.  Clint glared at him, but didn’t make a move, only lifting his hands to show he wasn’t armed any longer.  _“There’s no need to hurt anyone,”_ he said, pitching his voice low and comforting.  Patrick recognised it as the _‘I know you’re crazy but I’m trying to be your friend’_ voice that every hostage negotiator was taught.

The man who’d threatened Tish simply smirked.  _“Find him,”_ he directed the others.  Four of them moved, leaving camera shot. 

This one was obviously the leader.  He was dressed in a deep blue tunic and trousers, looking out of place in the current century.  His hair was dark with silver at the temples, and he was cruelly handsome.

“I know him…” Jack murmured.  Patrick glanced at him, seeing a puzzled expression on his face. 

“Do you know where?” he asked softly.

Jack shook his head, frustrated. “I should, though.”

“Yeah, you should,” Hart piped up from the chair he’d been cuffed to, and he didn’t sound happy.  “That’s Juno Bayl, the bastard.”

“Pause it,” Patrick ordered.  He then regarded Hart.  “And just who is Juno Bayl?”

“He’s the head of the Time Agency,” was the answer, but it didn’t come from Hart.

It came from Jack, who looked as if someone had just hit him over the head with a heavy object.

Patrick frowned at his father-in-law.  “I thought the Time Agency had been disbanded.”

“It has been,” Hart replied.  “And Bayl ended up on a prison planet on the edge of Imperial space because of a list of charges as long as my dick, thanks to some very determined people.  But it looks like he’s found a way out.”  His jaw clenched, as if he was barely holding himself back from saying something he shouldn’t.

Everyone ignored the dick part.

“But why here?” Josh asked.  “And why is he after Pendragon?”

Both excellent questions, but Hart was done speaking.  He simply leaned back in the chair, managing to look comfortable even though he was tied to it and his expression resembled a disgruntled little kid.  But there was actually fear in his pale eyes, and Patrick wasn’t sure what scared him more…a frightened John Hart, or someone who could transport themselves into his Hub at will.

Patrick stifled a sigh when the ex-Time Agent remained silent, instead going back to the recording.  “Start it up again.”

The images on the screen started moving once more.  The man Hart had identified as Bayl moved toward Clint, who stayed exactly where he was, hands still raised.  He glanced over at the person holding the gun on the unconscious Tish, then back to Clint. _“We’re not going to hurt anyone, we just want what we came here for and then we’ll be gone.  If you simply cooperate everything will be fine.”_

_“Pardon me if I don’t quite believe that,”_ Clint answered, in the exact same tone he’d have used to discuss the weather.

_“You’re Torchwood,”_ Bayl answered.  _“I might have…disagreed with what Torchwood did to me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to risk timelines over something that will be settled as soon as I…ah, and there he is.”_

The fact that Torchwood apparently still existed far into the 52nd century settled into the back of his mind as Patrick watched the four antagonists who’d left came back into shot, Pendragon walking in the centre of their diamond formation, all guns aimed at various parts of his anatomy.  From his position on camera Patrick couldn’t see the expression on the man’s face, but his body seemed wound tightly as they escorted him to Bayl, as if he was holding himself in check.   

_“You’re very good,”_ Bayl commented.  _“You do certainly live up to your reputation.”_

Pendragon said nothing. 

Patrick frowned.  This Bayl person was talking to their guest in English, as if he expected the Shieldsman to understand him…and that thought brought up a flair of suspicion that, perhaps, they’d been played in some way.

But then, they’d already assumed that Phillip Pendragon was something beyond what he appeared.

Bayl sketched a bow.  _“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Grand Master Pendragon…or should I say Phillip Coulson, Director of SHIELD?”_

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

 

Patrick’s knees threatened to buckle; the only thing keeping him upright was the death grip he had on the edge of the holotable.  Jack reached over and slammed a hand over the pause button, growling under his breath.  A hand touched Patrick’s elbow as if to support him, and he took a deep breath and nodded his thanks to whoever it was, even though he couldn’t tear his eyes away from what they were viewing in order to see who it was. 

On the screen, the tableau had stilled once more.  From what he could tell from the scene, Clint had gone still; sniper-still and that was obvious even with the recording stopped.  He could imagine his friend’s thoughts the moment Bayl had called Pendragon by his Uncle Phil’s name, because they were most likely the same as the ones Patrick himself were having in that moment. 

Pendragon’s last name was actually Coulson?  How was that possible? 

What the hell was going on?

And what was that Director of SHIELD shit?  SHIELD was gone; brought down by two well-meaning people who hadn’t quite put enough thought into what damage they would cause by throwing open SHIELD’s files and exposing more than they had any right to expose.  Besides, his uncle had died long before SHIELD had crashed and burned, another reason there could be another Director, let alone one from the 52nd century with the same name as _his_ Phil Coulson.

Jack had turned on Hart, storming over to him.  “You want to explain?” he snapped, his anger making his eyes go darker than normal.

Hart straightened up, and he looked completely serious. “Jack, I can’t.  You know about the timelines –“

“Does this happen to have anything to do with the _guest_ Ianto has back at the Hub?” Jack accused, leaning deep into Hart’s personal space, glaring.  If looks could kill, Patrick was certain Hart would have been burned to ash.

The ex-Time Agent’s eyes widened.  “Wait…that’s _now_?”  His surprise would have been comical if it wasn’t so very real.

Patrick stared at Jack, remembering the phone call that he’d made on the roof after their apprehending of Hart.  “What’s going on at the Hub?” he demanded, wondering if it was such a good idea to be asking at all, but it had something to do with what had occurred, if Jack was mentioning it.

“What the hell is going on?” Jack grabbed the front of Hart’s jacket, shaking him roughly; the force of it would have had Hart up and out of the chair if the ex-Time Agent hadn’t been handcuffed to it.  “And don’t give me any of that shit about your girlfriend and you doing her a favour! Who is that man who came from the future?  Because Bayl has him, and we have to assume it has to be related to what’s going on in Cardiff!”

Hart looked cornered, but the fear in his eye wasn’t anything to do with his former partner. He stared Jack right in the eye, and it was obvious he’d come to a decision he didn’t care for at all.  “That man Bayl took is Phillip Coulson, Grand Master of the Imperial Shieldsmen, although he’s been going by the name Pendragon for ages now.  And, if what you’re saying is true about the man in Cardiff, then we’re all fucked and not in a pleasant way.  My coming back here was supposed to have been in time to stop this, but obviously it didn’t work that way…and I’m gonna have words with _them_ when I get back, that’s for sure.”

He’d been certain that Hart had been hiding something, but this only confused Patrick even more. “So…what?  He’s a descendant of the Coulson family?” Patrick asked, feeling as he did so his team gathering around him, supporting him.  He ignored the ‘them’ for the moment in order to deal with what was being revealed.  His brain didn’t even want to consider the “Director” part of Bayl’s statement, because Patrick didn’t think he was quite able to handle just what that entailed.  It wasn’t the entire story, but it was still too much, too fast.

Hart actually had pity in his eyes when he turned in Patrick’s direction.  “No, sorry.” He glanced back up at Jack.  “You should tell him, mate.  Tell him your suspicions, ‘cause I’m sure you’ve got ‘em.”

Jack didn’t say anything for a full minute, just staring at Hart as if he was seeing him for the first time.  His eyes widened as whatever conclusion the other man wanted him to come to hit.  “But it’s not possible! What you’re…it’s not possible!” His denials were weak, like Jack wanted to forget what he’d deduced but couldn’t.

Patrick’s father-in-law was breathing rapidly, practically hyperventilating.  He wanted to reach out and touch Jack, to let him know that he was there, but he didn’t.  Something was going on, something that he knew shouldn’t be even if he really hadn’t a clue, and he needed answers more from his boss than to comfort Alice’s Dad.   

“Look,” Hart sighed, apparently taking pity on Jack, “I don’t know the whole story.  I do know that it involved lots of pain and despair and alien blood and unintentional magic and shouldn’t have ever happened, but it did.  It screwed him up royally, there’s no denying that, but he’s here and survived and yeah…he’s immortal.  Though not in the same way you or Eye Candy are, but whatever the hell was done to him changed him and made him nearly impossible to kill.”

Jack’s knees folded, and he ended on up the concrete floor before anyone could keep him on his feet.  He was white, as if he’d seen a ghost, horror flooding his face.  “Does he know?” he asked faintly.

“Not right now, from what I’ve been told,” Hart answered softly.  “But he does find out soon.  I’m just not sure how.”

“Will someone tell me what the fuck you’re talking about?” Patrick shouted, tired of hearing them talk in circles and not telling him what it was they were so concerned about, and knocked so far off his game he didn’t know if he could ever get his balance once more.

Although, he thought he understood, he just didn’t want to admit it.  He needed to hear it from either Hart or Jack, because otherwise he wouldn’t believe it, because it was impossible, as Jack had insisted it was. 

This couldn’t be happening. Patrick was wishing that he would wake up at home, a warm and sleepy Alice at his side, and everything would be back to normal once more.

Judging from the looks on his teams’ collective faces, no one else was getting it.  He didn’t know if he was grateful for that or not, although Patrick wished that at least one of them would because he really needed someone to tell him he was dead wrong in his suppositions.

Jack’s eyes were old and incredibly sad. “I called Ianto after we captured John,” he said slowly, “and he told me there was a guest in the Hub.  Ianto…he said there was something up…” he swallowed hard.  “He told me that Phil Coulson was in the Hub…a very much alive Phil Coulson, who was looking for help in rebuilding SHIELD.”

Patrick felt suddenly dizzy.  No, this couldn’t be…he’d seen his Uncle Phil in his coffin, and there was no way coming back from what Loki had done…

Once again he felt someone take his arm, and he tried to smile at Martha as she steadied him, but he just couldn’t. 

His uncle was alive…and no one had bothered to tell either him, or Clint, or the rest of their family.  His mother had mourned her only brother, the strongest woman he’d ever met crying until she was totally empty of any more tears.  Steven had been stoic until the actual funeral, and then his adopted son had finally fallen apart, and was just now really putting himself back together.  That didn’t even count what Clint had gone through, knowing he’d lost his only chance to get his ex-lover back; or Patrick himself, not being able to make up his mind if he was proud or furious that his uncle had put himself between Loki and the rest of the Helicarrier and had paid for that gesture with his life.

The hot agony of anger flared up in his chest, leaving him practically breathless.  His uncle had lied and hidden himself away and no one had known about it.  What had he been doing all this time?  Where had he been hiding?  What had been more important than telling his own damned family that he was alive, that somehow he’d been brought back from the dead?

And just what was that ‘Director’ bullshit?

God, and poor Clint!  Patrick suddenly didn’t want to watch the rest of the recording, but he’d have to, to know what had been done to his best friend; the better to rescue him from wherever he’d been taken. He didn’t want to see the entirety of Clint’s reaction when he’d finally realised that the man they’d saved last night was actually his former lover, the one person above all others that Clint had mourned the most, so much he’d left SHIELD and the Avengers and came to London to the people he considered his family. 

And his Uncle Phil was immortal, due to something that had been done to him.  He’d seen what immortality did to people, and the cost of it had been horrible; he didn’t want to think of his two fathers-in-law having to survive past him, Alice, Steven, and Gracie.  It mitigated the anger just a bit, but Patrick knew it would be a while before he could forgive his uncle for pretending to be dead for two years.

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay,” Martha murmured.

Patrick was forever grateful for that.

And then he considered that thought, and fought back the urge to vomit.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Josh said, sounding terribly patient but really, Patrick knew differently; all of his years as a television presenter had given Josh a façade of affability that only a few people had seen behind, and Patrick could tell he was just being nice on the outside.  “The guy who came back in time is Phil Coulson, who everyone was calling a hero of the Battle of New York, and who was supposed to have been killed by a maniac Norse god…”

“He _was_ killed by a maniac Norse God,” Martha corrected.

“Who was killed by Loki, the maniac Norse God in question,” Josh amended.  “There was a big funeral and everything, so it was a pretty forgone conclusion that it had really happened and wasn’t some sort of mass hallucination fuelled by too much alcohol and too little sleep.”

“I saw the body,” Patrick whispered.  “So did Ianto, Clint, Alice, and Steven.”

“So there are witnesses, including a huge section of the intelligence community _and_ the Avengers,” Josh rolled on.  “But, somehow he was brought back to life after however long, we don’t know how only that it was done, and it made him immortal.  Am I right so far?”

“Go on, beautiful,” Hart encouraged. 

Josh didn’t even react to Hart’s endearment.  “So he lives until the 52nd century, when he’s kidnapped and brought back in time just as his past self is approaching Torchwood for assistance.  So far, so good?”

“Brains and beauty…what a combination,” Hart complimented.  “I can see why he’s on the team.”

“But what I don’t understand is why?  Why kidnap the guy and bring him back in time?  What could possibly be the purpose of that?”

Patrick wanted to kiss him for putting things so succinctly, because he was pretty damned sure he wouldn’t have been able to. 

Even as Josh was laying things out in a way everyone could understand, Patrick was watching Jack as his father-in-law was working things out, which was why he knew exactly when Jack realised that this was indeed bad.  Judging from the expression on Jack’s face, it was actually more than just bad.

“The Blinovitch Limitation Effect,” was what Jack said.

From Martha’s gasp and Mickey’s cursing, they must have gotten exactly what Jack meant.  Hart looked just plain ill, although he must have known all along what was going on.  “Care to explain to those who aren’t scientifically inclined?” Patrick demanded.

It was Luke who answered.  “The Blinovitch Limitation Effect was named after Aaron Blinovitch who, back in 1928, postulated that two people from different parts of the same timeline cannot come into contact with each other without causing a paradox or other such damage to the existing timeline.”

That didn’t sound good at all, but it certainly explained why all the resident time travellers had heard of it.  “So you’re saying that this Bayl person wants to create some sort of paradox by bringing present Coulson and future Coulson together?” Tish asked.

“It’s more than that,” Jack said, seeming to finally get himself under control and was climbing to his feet.  “Under normal circumstances, the damage wouldn’t be all that severe…maybe not even a paradox, but certainly some form of time loop or energy burst.  But, there’s a codicil to the actual theory that says the farther apart the two sections of timeline are, the greater the energy created.  It’s only one of the many reasons I always try to avoid myself when I have to cross timelines…being from the 51st century, can you imagine what would happen if I met a past self?  It could be catastrophic.”

Patrick finally understood what was really going on.  “So, you’re saying that getting the two of them together would be a really bad idea, then.”

Jack nodded.  “All those centuries between both of them…yeah, the energy release would be incalculable.  It would most likely wipe out a huge part of Cardiff.”

“Or the timeline itself,” Hart added.   

Jack’s head whipped around to so fast Patrick was surprised his neck didn’t snap with the effort.  “What the hell?  Are you saying…?”

“That Bayl wants to destroy the Coulson timeline?  Yep…at least that’s what the theory is.”

“Is he insane?” Mickey demanded. “’Cause that much history…gone like that?  Just how many important events is this gonna wipe out?”

“You have no idea,” Hart answered, but he didn’t elaborate.   

“But if both Coulsons are immortal,” Martha asked, “how is that even going to work?”

“And why not do this before the original Coulson got immortality in the first place?” Josh added.  “Wouldn’t that cause more damage in the long run?  I mean, the paradox alone…”

“Josh makes sense,” Patrick said, trying to get answers for his own questions.  “Wouldn’t the paradox or whatever be even worse if an immortal Un… _Coulson_ came into contact with a mortal one?” It was too hard to say ‘Uncle Phil’ out loud.

“It would, yes,” Jack allowed.  “Unless there’s something that Bayl thinks has to happen before he could put his plan into effect…” He looked straight at Hart.

Hart shrugged as well as he could with his hands tied behind his back to a chair.  “That I don’t know, sorry.  I only know what I was told and that wasn’t part of it. I just know that whatever’s going on is affecting the one time sensitive of my acquaintance, and it’s bad.”

Jack had his phone out, and was dialling before Hart had finished speaking.  “Ianto? Is he still there?...Okay, keep him there and lock down the Hub…total lockdown, including Tosh’s time lock…yes, it’s bad. I’ll have to explain later, I don’t have the time right now…I don’t care what you tell him, but he absolutely cannot leave the Hub.  It’s imperative that Phillip Coulson not go anywhere until I release the lockdown…yes, it does have to do with what’s going on here…alright, I’ll get back as soon as I can…Love you.”  He hung up.  “Okay, so Bayl isn’t about to get to the present Coulson while he’s in the Hub.”

“Now we just need to find where the future Coulson is,” Patrick sighed, “and hopefully Clint is in the same place.  Let’s finish up the video and see if there are any clues on it.”

He could only hope they’d be able to get Clint back.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I meant to have this up last night, but after working eleven hours I just crashed. Hope it was worth the wait!

 

**_Unknown Time and Place_ **

**_Interlude_ **

****

 

Clint Barton groaned, flailing about the moment he realised he wasn’t in the Hub2 any longer.  One hand hit something cold and hard, while the other waved about in the air in a manner that had to have been ever so slightly crazy if he wasn’t disconcerted enough by finding out he wasn’t where he was supposed to have been.

It came back to him in a rush; the intruders back at the base, how they’d held Tish hostage…and what those bastards had called their visitor from the future. 

_Phil Coulson, Director of SHIELD._

There was also some fighting, and how he and Pendragon – or Coulson, which was insane enough to be completely and utterly true – had fallen easily into step with each other, taking down another four of the intruders before…well, Clint thought he’d been shot, but he didn’t feel like there were any unusual holes in his hide anywhere.  Must have been one of those future sonic guns, then.  Vaguely he seemed to recall that he’d thrown himself at the disappearing bad guys, which would certainly explain why he wasn’t at the Hub2 any longer…his propensity to jump into danger was well-known among his friends and family and had Alice swearing at him in a highly out of character way every time he’d been caught doing it.  He wasn’t supposed to know about the betting pool that had odds of Alice killing him _before_ him dying in an alien invasion or falling to his death off the side of a collapsing building.

He opened his eyes, and they darted sharply around to take in his surroundings despite the headache he had.  He was in some sort of room or bunker, the walls, floor, and ceiling made of industrial usage concrete, but there was nothing else in the room except for a steel door in one wall and a bare lightbulb in the ceiling putting out a weak glow that barely illuminated anything.

Levering himself upright in order to lean against the cold wall, Clint felt pain stab through his ribs and jaw, and it brought back more of the fight he’d been involved in before being unceremoniously shot. He’d really thought they could get one over from the intruders into the Hub2, once they’d taken out the one holding Tish at gunpoint…and it had helped that he’d fallen so easily into synch with Pendragon…Coulson…whatever the hell anyone would be calling him these days. 

That made him think of their visitor, and Clint felt suddenly nauseous.  He turned his head, finding the man who’d claimed to have been from the future.

He was seated against the far wall, his legs pulled up to his chest and his broken arm cradled on his knees.  Blue eyes were watching Clint’s every move, set in an inscrutable mask that the archer recognised well enough, having seen it many times before in the past.

But there were cracks in that mask.  Clint doubted anyone else would have noticed, and him seeing that was more than enough to bring it home to him that this man was…well, was the man he’d loved for years and who was supposed to have been dead for years.  There was worry in those cracks, but it wasn’t worry for himself; it was worry for Clint, and he was trying to hide it and failing. 

Clint really didn’t know what to think about that.

He cocked his head, and for the first time he really took a good look at the person he now knew was somehow Phil Coulson…but from the future, if that wasn’t some sort of really intricate lie, which Clint really doubted if he was being truthful to himself.  Coulson hadn’t changed at all, despite claiming to be from the 52nd century and having enough knowledge of that time that he’d actually convinced Jack.  It was impossible to even consider that he’d been telling the truth, unless there’d been even more secrets between them than just work ones…which of course wouldn’t surprise him in the least.

“You can ask me anything, you know,” Phil said quietly.  Resignation lurked in his eyes.

Clint knew he’d been caught staring, but didn’t care.  This was just way too bizarre; and this was for him, who saw one alien invasion at least every few months and had experienced things that were even stranger than what one saw in the crappiest sci-fi movies.  Hell, he’d fought against giant walking alien penises, for God’s sake! 

The dirty jokes hadn’t stopped for weeks, and that wasn’t even the ones from Jack.

“Okay,” he said. After all, he’d been given permission. “Just who are you, anyway?  ‘Cause from where I’m sitting you look a lot like someone who shouldn’t be walking around like he wasn’t actually dead.”

That caused a small, tired smile to flutter across Phil’s lips.  “I’m exactly who you think I am.”

“Riddles?  Seriously?”  Of course it would be a guessing game.  Clint really should have known better.  “Then, if I think you’re an entitled prick who should go and fuck himself, I’d be right?”

Okay, he should have expected that little huff of laughter.  “Yes, you would.”

“Screw you, Phil,” Clint snapped, letting nearly two years of grief and guilt get the better of him even as he fully accepted that this, indeed, was _his_ Phil Coulson.  “I mourned you, and you were out doing God knows what?”  He swallowed the hard knot of anger down, trying to remain calm.  “Look, why don’t you just explain to me what’s going on?  Cause I gotta tell you, this is confusing as hell.”  And it would help him decide whether he’d consider forgiving the man for putting him through all the shit he’d had to deal with.

Any sort of humour that Coulson had been feeling vanished, leaving an exhausted expression in those familiar blue eyes.  “It’s long and complicated, but I was dead…and then I wasn’t.  I don’t like to recall how it was done, because it was just…wrong, I guess is the correct thing to call it.  But, the procedures that were used somehow reacted with the residual magic left in my body from Loki’s staff and I was made immortal.  So, I didn’t just go off to the future, Clint…I lived through every year of it, up until Bayl decided he was going to make some sort of play involving me.”  He shook his head wryly.  “You wouldn’t believe just how freaked out I was when I realised _when_ I was.  And then when Jack came in and began talking to me…I’d hoped that me using Galactic Standard would have put an end to any questioning.  I should have figured out that Jack would be fluent; I have no idea why I didn’t take that into consideration.  But I couldn’t give myself away, so I fell back on just enough of the truth to cover myself.  Of course, all that stuff about being religious and not wanting to be closely examined was…well, let’s just say the scar I got from Loki is very obvious and I couldn’t chance someone putting two and two together.”

Any anger that Clint had been feeling was washed away in a wave of concern for the man sitting across from him.  He wasn’t sure how much of it he believed, but he couldn’t imagine living that long.  How had it worn on Phil?  How had it changed him?  Did he really want to know?  Was he truly immortal?

Phil dropped his gaze, and immediately Clint knew it was because he saw the pity Clint was feeling.  He wanted to say he couldn’t help it, that he’d been around Jack and Ianto enough time now to know that immortality wasn’t the gift that books and movies made it out to be.  He cleared his throat, wanting to change the subject because he simply didn’t want to consider the man he’d loved for so long being in that same boat…or that it all led back to his actions while under Loki’s control. 

Guilt made him say the first thing that came into his head.  “So, what was all that stuff about being a grand master or something?”

“SHIELD’s changed over the millennia,” Phil explained.  “I can’t say too much, timelines and all that, but we’ve had to adapt in order to survive.  Now, the Shieldsmen are the Empire’s guards and spies, answerable only to the Imperial throne.”

“And you’re the Grand Master?” Clint snorted.  “That’s such a pretentious shit title, you know?”

Phil shrugged.  “It wasn’t my decision, but it was done because there were already two Directors out there, and it avoided confusion.  Personally, I don’t care what I’m called as long as I can do my job properly, although I do claim to be a different rank because I want people to underestimate my presence.  Besides, it make the true Grand Master that much more mysterious and allows me to go where someone with that sort of power normally wouldn’t be allowed.”

There was one question he really wanted to ask, and while Clint would normally censor himself while he was in the hands of a time travelling maniac who wanted Phil for some reason he didn’t know what, he just couldn’t help himself.  “Were you ever going to tell us you were alive?”

Phil closed his eyes, resting his forehead on his cast.  “Yes,” he murmured.  “In fact, if this is when I think it is, then I’m in Cardiff right now getting support for SHIELD.”  He lifted his head, meeting Clint’s eyes.  “My next stop was going to be London, where I’d hoped I’d be able to explain everything to you and Patrick, and try to earn your forgiveness.”

“It’s been nearly two years, Phil,” Clint said, not meaning to sound plaintive but not being able to help himself. 

“And it’s been over three thousand for me,” Phil countered.  “And I never really stopped missing you.  There were times when I wasn’t sure what was I was missing – humans weren’t meant to be immortal, I think, and we have a tendency to forget things – but that feeling was always there.  Seeing you again made me realise that you were the hole I didn’t even know I needed to fill.  And now,” he sighed, “I’ll lose you all over again once this is done.”

That made Clint’s heart crack.  He could hear the loneliness in Phil’s voice, and once again couldn’t help but think just what a curse was to be immortal.  Or that, because of him, because Clint hadn’t fought against Loki harder, that Phil had even died in the first place.  Would Phil even forgive him for his part in it all?  He didn’t have the courage to ask.

He did have to wonder if Phil’s not telling them sooner had a little to do with what had occurred on the Helicarrier that fateful day.  But no, he wouldn’t also punish Patrick and the rest of his family, not over Clint’s actions.  His Coulson simply wasn’t that petty.

It did make him wonder if it might have had something to do with the fall of SHIELD, Phil not coming forward sooner.  That had been a bad time for everyone who’d even been the slightest bit affiliated with SHIELD; even Torchwood had gotten the blowback when some of the leaked SHIELD documents had mentioned the agreements between the two agencies.  Hell, the files about Loki’s brainwashing and Clint’s participation in the attack on the Helicarrier had gotten out as well, and that had almost led to a diplomatic incident when a strike team had attempted to bring him to whatever the hell justice was being meted out on former SHIELD agents and their families.  Thank God that same strike team had been caught trying to raid Torchwood House and had been apprehended before they could come for him although he had absolutely no doubt that his teammates would have defended him to the death. 

So much had gone wrong when HYDRA had been outed.  Clint was still bothered by what had gone down.  And here was Phil, a Phil Coulson who’d lived so very long.  Would he be able to even answer half the questions Clint had?

“You’re in Cardiff now?” he clarified. 

Phil nodded.  “I was the new Director back then...or now, I guess.  Having allies only made sense, and SHIELD always had a close working relationship with Torchwood.”

“Should I congratulate you then?”  He tried so hard not to sound snide, but knew he’d failed at the miniscule flinch he saw Phil have.  Still, there was no one else he could see as a better fit as SHIELD’s new Director.  Despite what had been done before now, Phillip Coulson was the Agent’s Agent, the one who got things done and still managed to keep his humanity intact.  He truly cared about the innocent people who got caught up in what SHIELD did, and tried to never leave a man behind.

“Clint.”

He hadn’t noticed that he’d leaned his head back against the wall, and was no longer looking at Phil, until his ex-lover’s voice spoke his name.  Clint moved his head forward enough to see Phil leaning forward, his knees now down, earnestness in his face. 

“I know I don’t have the right to say anything,” he began, “but in Cardiff there’s a man who still loves you very much, despite the distance and whatever it was that came between you two.  I only ask that you give him a chance.  You might not think he deserves it, and maybe you’re right, but after what he’s been through he needs friendly faces around him.  You don’t have to promise or anything, all I ask is that maybe you could at least try?”

Clint didn’t want to really answer that question, and he didn’t have to because the unmistakeable sound of a key turning in the lock of the cell door.  It was pulled open to reveal the man in the blue shirt, the one who’d led the attack on the Hub2.  He looked angry, and the silvery gun he held was obviously dangerous.

It was pointed at Clint.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

**_Unknown Time and Place_ **

**_Interlude (Part Two)_ **

 

 

 

“What do you want, Bayl?” Future-Phil demanded, climbing to his feet.  His expression made Clint shiver; he was giving off this sudden aura of power that finally dispersed the image of the frightened, injured man who’d been pursued through time and had landed in Torchwood’s lap.  His eyes actually seemed bluer than Clint remembered, and were practically glowing.

“I want access to the Torchwood Hub,” Bayl growled.  His eyes fell onto Clint.  “And you are going to get me that access.”

Clint snorted, getting himself to his feet as well, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he did so.  “Yeah, right.” He didn’t give a rat’s ass what this bastard wanted, as far as the archer was concerned he could whistle for whatever information he was determined to get.  It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d ever been tortured, and Clint doubted it would be the last, not in his line of work.

There was simply no way in hell he was going to cooperate, not with his current Phil in the Hub and with no clue as to what was really going on.  Phil Coulson might not be on his Christmas card list at the moment, but he would still protect him as much and for as long as he could, since he’d failed so spectacularly with Loki.

He let his eyes settle on their antagonist, who didn’t look any less angry at Clint’s denial.  He decided a dose of truth was called for.  “Look, the moment you and your bully boys hit the Hub2, our boss would’ve been on the phone, ordering a complete lockdown of the Cardiff Hub.  And, since we’re dealing with time travellers, that would include our own version of a time lock.”  He’d lobbied hard and long about getting that same sort of protection for London, but there had been certain logistics to it that Toshiko, Luke, and Mr Smith were still working out, since they didn’t have access to the limitless energy of the Cardiff Rift to power it. 

He was willing to bet that they’d be working on that even harder after all this.

Bayl didn’t lose any of his anger, but Clint could tell that the man believed him.  “I need access!” he shouted.  “My plan can’t proceed without it!”

“Just what is your plan?” Phil inquired, a bare hint of his own anger in his question.  “You kidnapped me from the Throneworld; Goddess knows what you did to my niece…”

“That bitch took down three of my men before they were able to put a stop to her,” Bayl snarled, his hand tightening on the butt of his gun. 

So that part of the story was true; there had been a niece of some sort, and she’d been hurt in the fracas with Bayl’s people.

Phil’s eyes narrowed with disdain.  “And how many did I take out before Torchwood interfered in the park?”  There was a slight tremor in his voice, and Clint read that tell easily as the man being so worried about this niece that it was making him even angrier than before.

This was something that had changed about the man Clint had known for so long; his Phil had been calm in the face of pressure, but this…this visible anger was different, and Clint could honestly say he was glad to see it.  Sometimes he’d thought Phil too buttoned up, keeping things in that were best let out.  Now, it was as if the years that he’d passed through had worn him down until only his inner emotions were left, and only in certain circumstances did the mask come back out for all to see.

Still, as he’d noticed before, it was a cracked mask, one that, someday, would receive that final blow and be gone like smoke in the breeze.  He kinda wished he could see it when it did happen.

“But you won’t interfere with Torchwood, will you?” Phil went on.  “You don’t dare.  No matter what your endgame is, you can’t interfere.”

Bayl’s face went red, and Clint wondered just how high his blood pressure was going.  Maybe he’d pop a vessel and they could escape without raising a fist. “I don’t get it,” he said to Phil, “just why does he need to get into the Hub?  And what’s so big about Torchwood that he can’t interfere with it?”  Of course he immediately thought of the younger Coulson there, looking for allies in his efforts to rebuild SHIELD.  Why would Bayl want him and this version of him?  Clint knew he was missing something, he just didn’t know what. 

He absolutely hated that feeling.

“It’s obvious, of course,” Phil challenged.  “He wants me.  The much younger me, that is…the one who still doesn’t know the end result of what happened to him and thinks he might not last long enough to get SHIELD back on its feet and is looking for aid to do just that.”  He took three steps toward Bayl, making the man back up a little if he wanted to keep the gun aimed properly.  “And, if I can make a guess as to why, I would say that, despite the need to not interfere with Torchwood and its timelines, you are going to make an attempt on one of their closest allies.  Am I correct?”

Just from Bayl’s expression Clint knew that Phil had hit the nail on the head.  He ignored the fact that he hadn‘t really explained what Torchwood had to do with anything.  “But why?” he asked his ex-lover, deliberately paying no attention whatsoever to their captor, wanting to piss him off more, to throw him off balance.  “Sorry, but I don’t get all this timeline shit.  Care to explain?”

“Certainly.” He tucked his hands behind his back, and Clint thought he’d look as if he were about to give a lecture if it weren’t for the now-wrinkled blue scrubs Phil was still wearing.  “While I don’t pretend to understand temporal theory, I do know there are certain things a time traveller just doesn’t do.  One of those things is having two people from different parts of the same timeline in close proximity to one another.  It could be…catastrophic.  So, bringing me back and having me meet my past self was obviously the plan.”  He cocked his head, meeting Clint’s gaze.  “I’m not sure why this me and past me, but it must be some sort of special circumstance; something that had to occur before Bayl could attempt to disrupt things to the degree he wants.”

Bayl was tired of being ignored; even though Clint wasn’t looking at him, he could actually hear the man’s teeth grinding.  “At this point,” he spat out, “SHIELD and Torchwood hadn’t made their historic pact.  This is the perfect time to destroy this timeline and shift it into something a bit more…amenable to the Time Agency.  And I had to wait until SHIELD actually fell…I couldn’t do it before you became immortal or else the planet would have fallen to Loki because the Avengers wouldn’t have been able to get themselves together without your sacrifice.  The paradox would have been far too extreme.”

This confused Clint even more.  “What does exposing two versions of Phil Coulson make things easier on the Time Agency?  I thought it was disbanded?” His head was spinning a bit.  So, apparently Torchwood survives far into the future, but what did that mean?  Were Jack and Ianto still in charge, or had someone else taken over?  What did changing the timelines mean for whatever future form Torchwood had taken?  Had SHIELD had that much influence that it had changed Torchwood, and therefore Torchwood had changed SHIELD?

But Phil wasn’t reacting the way Clint thought he would.  In fact, he was laughing.

“Is that what you think will happen if you tamper with my timeline?” The sheer disbelief in his face and voice almost caused Clint to bust out into laughter as well, and he didn’t even know what was so funny.  “You honestly believe that causing whatever you think will happen if I meet myself will make things better for the Time Agency?  This is your plan?”

“The energy released by the two of you coming into contact with each other should be enough to erase you both from existence,” Bayl swore.  “There will be no SHIELD, no Shieldsmen…and no immortal Grand Master to be the power behind the Imperial Throne.  The alliance between SHIELD and Torchwood won’t exist, which means Torchwood would be weakened.  Not destroyed, so the timeline would stay moderately intact, but it will mean the Time Agency would have a chance to be stronger and in a better position of power.”

“And you think that won’t get the Time Agency disbanded?” Phil was still laughing. “No, of course it won’t…because the Time Agency won’t exist!”

Bayl was puzzled, which seemed to dislodge the anger from his expression. “What are you talking about, Pendragon?” He took a step forward, and Clint saw his chance.

The archer launched himself forward, slamming his shoulder into Bayl’s chest and knocking him backward several steps.  His antagonist snarled and tried to bring the gun around, but he was stopped; Clint knew immediately that Phil had taken the opportunity to join the fight. 

The three of them hit the floor, Clint and Phil sprawled on top of Bayl and knocking the wind out of him.  It took three good punches to the face to get the guy to stay down; two from Phil and one from Clint.  Over the unconscious body Clint met Phil’s eyes, seeing in them once again that seeming glow that he had before; the other man was breathing just a little harder than normal, and the sudden, crooked smile that graced those lips did things to Clint’s stomach, things that were scarily familiar and not at all unpleasant. 

Clint didn’t even know what he’d done until his lips were on Phil’s, and they were snogging quite enthusiastically over the body of their mutual enemy. 

It was different, and yet the same as the many times that they’d kissed before, back when they’d been together and happy, before they’d somehow drifted apart and Audrey had come into the picture.  One of them made a noise, Clint couldn’t tell which one of them it was, but it was a sound of encouragement that should have led to more kissing only Phil was pulling away reluctantly. 

“Not here,” Phil murmured, sounding almost wrecked. 

“Yeah, understood,” Clint agreed, panting.  “Later.”

Phil wouldn’t meet Clint’s eyes.  Instead, he began searching Bayl, handing the silvery future gun to Clint while taking what appeared to be the duplicate of Jack’s wrist strap and two knives.  He tucked the knives under one arm as he stood then flipped open the Vortex Manipulator’s cover.  He touched a couple of buttons, frowning as he saw the results.  “We’re still on Earth, 21st century.  The very same day we were taken, actually.  Looks like we’re in Cardiff.”  He strapped it to his own wrist just over the now-ragged cast.

Clint took in their surroundings.  Beyond their cell there was an extremely short hallway, leading up to stairs that ended at an angled door in the ceiling. Another door was at the other end of the corridor, and it was closed. “Some sort of cellar I’d reckon,” he replied. “Or an old bomb shelter.”  The latter was more likely; he’d heard from Jack about the bombing of Cardiff back in World War Two, and if anyone knew about that sort of thing, it was certainly Jack Harkness.

There was a sudden loud noise at the other end of the corridor, and Clint swivelled around and noticed that other door had slammed open, disgorging four men with the sonic guns.  The moment they caught sight of their two former prisoners, the signature whine of sonic weaponry filled the corridor.

Both of them ducked, barely getting out of the way in time.  “Back in the cell,” Phil suggested in his usual, calm-under-pressure tone.

They scrambled back into the cell, each grabbing a leg and hauling Bayl into the room they’d been in.  They weren’t at all careful with him, either, dragging him roughly along the pitted concrete. Once Bayl was all the way in, Clint slammed the door shut, glad that it opened inward so he could put his back against it in an attempt to keep the other guys out.  “Can you use that thing?” He indicated the wrist strap as the banging began.  “I mean, teleport us back to the Hub in London?” He figured they didn’t need to step foot closer to the Cardiff Hub than absolutely necessary, not with whoever it was on the other side of the door still on the loose.  He had no idea how much Bayl had trusted his cronies with his plan, but someone could take it into their head to complete it even with their leader captured.

“I am passably familiar with the Vortex Manipulator,” he answered primly.  “It’s not unlike my shield generator, except it’s not genetically locked to one user, which is a good thing.  I just have to get the right coordinates…” He pressed another button, and the thing beeped at him as if complaining about the treatment.

“Are you sure about that?” Clint teased as the door pushed inward under the outside assault.  “Better hurry, because they’re in a rush to get in here!”  He dug his heels in, ramming backward with his shoulder and forcing the door shut once more.  His obviously bruised ribs protested the treatment but there was no way he was going to let them in there unless it was over his dead body.

And there was the eye roll Clint had missed. “I’m quite certain.  I don’t think I’ve ever questioned your expertise with a bow, so please let me work here.”

Clint couldn’t help but snicker even as the pounding got louder and much more forceful.  This was his Phil; calm under pressure, working as if there weren’t several very pissed off people outside, wanting to get in and do horrible things to them. 

Then the pounding stopped, which could not be a good sign anywhere you look.

Phil cursed, grabbed Clint’s hand and rested it on the wrist strap, grabbing Bayl by the belt…there was that unmistakeable golden glow of time travel from within their cell…

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

**_3 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

****

The rest of the recording proved to be useless, although it did show that Clint, in his usual selfless manner, had leaped onto one of the intruders before they all managed to teleport away, and after he’d obviously been hit by a sonic blast from one of their guns.

There’d been a knock-down, drag-out fight between the strangers and Clint and the man that Patrick now knew was his uncle, only thousands of years older than he appeared.  They’d managed to take out the man standing over Tish first, and would have gotten the best of them all if not for Bayl, who managed to get around the worst of the battle in order to threaten Tish once more.  Both men had surrendered immediately, but Bayl had only been interested in taking the future uncle version until Clint had interfered and had been shot for his troubles.

Now, both were gone, and even Luke and Mr Smith and their network of sensors all over the city had failed to catch anything.

“They could be in Cardiff,” Jack suggested, chewing on his thumbnail nervously.  “With the Hub cut off from the outside world, I can’t even ask Tosh to check for any temporal signatures.”

“At least Bayl can’t accomplish what he wants to do,” Josh said in a valiant attempt to inject some positivity into the group around the scan table.

“Yeah,” Tish agreed, “but Agent Coulson isn’t gonna want to stay in the Hub indefinitely.  At some point he’s gonna question why Ianto’s holding him.”  She was frustrated at her bad showing against Bayl’s people, even though she really hadn’t been given much of a chance to do anything.  None of the Torchwood ladies enjoyed being held hostage, but the various aliens and whatnot that faced off against Torchwood had the tendency to think of them as the weaker members of the team.  This was complete and utter bullshit, because Patrick wasn’t afraid to admit that Toshiko could whip his ass any day of the week.

“Let’s just hope we catch Bayl and get Clint and future Coulson back before that happens,” Patrick sighed, trying to come up with some way to find them that didn’t involve bringing the Cardiff Hub into the mix.

It seemed as if that particular issue would be taken out of his hands when there was a strange noise out from the main area of Hub2.  Before Patrick was even aware of it, everyone with a weapon on them had them drawn and they were running down the corridor.

They all piled up in the entrance at the sight that greeted them.

Clint was leaning over, hands on his knees and breathing noisily through his mouth.  “That was fucking rough,” he was saying to his companion, voice slightly garbled.

The future Phil Coulson was pale, and he was clutching his head in one hand while the other was propping himself up against one of the workstations.  “You aren’t kidding,” he answered thickly.  “How can people travel like that?”

“It’s always rougher with two,” Jack piped up, dodging through the crush in the doorway while holstering his Webley.  “Or should I say three?”

At their feet was the unconscious form of Juno Bayl, looking really worse for wear with a bloody nose, a scrape across one cheek, and the beginnings of a beautiful black eye.

“I’ll remember that for the next time,” future Coulson said dryly, straightening up and removing his hand from where it had been rubbing through his thinning hair as if to stave off a headache.

Patrick shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he tucked his own gun away.  “I should have known you’d find a way to break yourselves out.”  Both were consummate professionals, and he’d heard stories of nearly impossible escapes all his life.  And he was certain that, as old as his uncle must have been now, he’d only gotten better with age.

He wondered if the man had been able to escape all the time he’d been there at the Hub2, and had decided not to.  It made too much sense to dismiss.

“Well,” Clint replied, standing upright and resting a hand on his hip, “you know the bad guys…they just have to monologue. Makes ‘em vulnerable.”

“Can someone please restrain him?” Coulson requested.  “I don’t even want to consider having to chase him down.  Oh, and we left four rather irritated flunkies back in Cardiff.”

Mickey produced the zip-cuffs from somewhere on his person and trussed Bayl up a little bit tighter than was actually needed, although Bayl, being thoroughly unconscious, didn’t complain.

“You have the coordinates of where you were held?” Jack demanded.

Coulson nodded.  He hesitated for a second, and then removed the wrist strap he must have taken from Bayl and tossed it to Jack.  “I doubt they’re still there,” the future Phil said, “but it can’t hurt to check the area.”

“Yeah, I doubt they hung around once Bayl was captured,” Jack agreed.  In a rare show of trust he removed his own Vortex Manipulator, passed it to the future version of Phil Coulson, and then put the fully functioning one on in its place.  He punched a button on the thing, and vanished in a flash of white light.

“Luke,” Patrick ordered, “I want you and Mr Smith to keep checking for temporal traces, just in case they try to infiltrate the base once more.”

“You got it.”  The young man left the main area, hurrying back to the lab area.

Patrick turned back to the two men.  Clint and this future uncle were standing side by side, as if showing a united front for the team.  He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug both Clint and Coulson; from their body language alone it was as if this version of his uncle and Clint had never parted, and it made his heart hurt, but in a good way.  He didn’t know if this meant that Clint was going to forgive the present iteration of Phil Coulson, but it did seem these two were on the way to reconciliation.

It made Patrick rethink his own stance on the lies, because Uncle Phil must have had a good reason to do it.  He was certain there would be an explanation in the near future, if his uncle truly was at the Cardiff Hub.

“So, Bayl told you his plan?” he asked, leaning against another of the workstations nonchalantly, his arms crossed and feeling some of the tension leave him.  With Clint free he no longer had to worry about that last-minute rescue that Torchwood had gotten so good at.

Clint nodded at Patrick’s question.  “I don’t get this temporal crap, but apparently he thought that bringing two Coulsons together would do enough damage to the future so he’d be able to get away with whatever the hell he wanted.”

Phil – and Patrick couldn’t _not_ call him Uncle Phil anymore, not after everything – nodded, smiling, his eyes squinting just a bit in humour.  “It seems that former Director Bayl didn’t do his research.  He thought he’d be able to strengthen the Time Agency by weakening his future enemies.  That’s not true at all; in fact, he would have surely caused the Time Agency not to have been created in the first place.”  Phil stopped, shrugging.  “Sorry, I really can’t say anything else.  I don’t dare strain the timelines any more than they already are with my presence here.”

“That’s too bad,” Josh grumped.  “This sounds like a story I’d love to have heard.”

Patrick felt the same way.  He wanted to take his future uncle aside, and ask him every question he had about his being brought back to life, and about their family and just what Torchwood was doing forward in his own time.  Because, if one thing Patrick was certain of, was that Torchwood was somewhere out there, and that Bayl’s plan had been to weaken that future organisation by destroying any sort of partnership with SHIELD.  After all, the Shieldsmen were the descendants of SHIELD, of that he was positive.  It only made sense that there was some version of Torchwood out there, and Patrick desperately wanted to know what they were doing.

But, he managed to keep himself from doing just that, although there was a glint in his uncle’s eye that communicated to Patrick that the much older man – immortal! – was aware of just what was going on in Patrick’s own head. 

“The pair of you,” Martha interjected, pointing at both Clint and Future Uncle Phil, “medical bay.  Now.  And none of that mess about being religiously compromised if I examine you.”  She waggled her finger at Coulson, whose smile grew.

“Yes, Doctor,” he answered dryly.  “But when Jack returns, I think that will be my cue to go back to my own time. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my clothes and belongings back with me.”

What he wasn’t saying was, _“I’d like to take my future tech with me so it doesn’t get experimented on and the timelines get bent out of shape.”_

“There’s something else you can take with you,” Patrick commented. He nodded toward Mickey and Josh, who left the main area.  In the excitement of the moment, he’d almost forgotten about John Hart.

“If you mean Bayl,” Uncle Phil replied, “then of course I fully intend to make certain he doesn’t escape justice again.”

“I guessed that,” Patrick answered dryly.  “No, this is someone that was actually sent to take you back to the future.”

Phil looked curious, but that turned to a frown when Josh and Mickey led a complaining John Hart into the room.  “Is this the best they could do?” he asked incredulously.

Patrick wanted to laugh at the disbelief in his uncle’s voice, and the confusion in Hart’s.  “You know me?” Hart demanded.

“Do you honestly think I didn’t thoroughly investigate my adopted niece’s choice in sexual partner?”  A single eyebrow slid upward.  “I may have never met you, but I do have quite the dossier on you, Captain Hart.”

There was a sudden leer on Hart’s face.  “Well, Queenie didn’t tell me you were so hot with the competence.”

There was a low growl somewhere in the room, and Patrick would have bet everything he had in the bank that it had come from Clint.  Even if his friend was still angry at all the lies, one thing was certain: Clint Barton didn’t like anyone ogling his man that way, especially someone like Hart. 

Hart ignored it, as did Phil, who simply said, “You call her _Queenie_?  And she lets you get away with that?”

Hart shrugged, looking smug.  “Pendragon just sounds so posh and hoity-toity I just can’t resist.  And she told me to give you a message.” One side of his mouth quirked upward and when he spoke it was in a high falsetto that Patrick figured had to be a horrible attempt at a woman’s voice.  “There’s no way you’re missing the birth of my first grandchild, Uncle Phillip.” 

That caused a round of laughter among the Torchwood personnel in the room, Patrick included.  It was just so ridiculous, that imitation, and it seemed to break a tension in his future uncle that he hadn’t noticed until it was gone.   As if Hart had passed some sort of test, one that the ex-Time Agent hadn’t even been aware of judging from the sudden comprehension in his eyes.

“Medical bay,” Martha ordered once again.

“And I have your things,” Mickey said, holding out a black bin bag. 

Phil gave him the eye, and then accepted the offering.  “Do you have any idea what plastic like this goes for in the future?”

Josh was trying to stifle a laugh, while Mickey simply rolled his eyes.  “Buy a spaceship on me, mate.”

With that comeback, Phillip Coulson, the future Grand Master of the Imperial Order of Shieldsmen, and Patrick Delaware’s immortal uncle, gave Mickey a salute that was half complimentary and half sarcastic.  “I’ll take two,” his voice was completely and utterly deadpan, “they’re small.”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you don't think this is the end, there are two more chapters after this. I should be posting them on Monday and Wednesday.

 

**_5 June 2014_ **

**_London_ **

 

 

Ianto Jones stepped out of the _Sky Gypsy_ and onto the tarmac of Torchwood’s small landing strip just east of the Hub2.  He stretched just enough for his vertebrae to crack, glad to be on the ground once more.  It didn’t matter how long he lived, he just knew he’d always hate flying in a plane.

His mate was waiting for him, hands behind his back and greatcoat flapping in the breeze.  Despite the summer heat Jack still insisted on wearing the coat…not that Ianto was complaining in the least.  That coat was damned sexy on Jack…and Jack knew it, of course.

Decorum would have insisted that they meet as colleagues, but Ianto didn’t feel very big on decorum at that moment.  He took several swift steps forward, grabbed the lapels of the coat and hauled Jack in for a kiss that he hoped curled his mate’s toes.

There was a sharp wolf whistle that Ianto didn’t bother reacting to at all.  He was much too busy greeting his mate in the way that Jack had become accustomed to.

Jack’s arms went around Ianto’s waist, tugging him closer.  The dragon could feel him getting hard against his own groin, and he removed his tongue from Jack’s mouth reluctantly, aware that they couldn’t get carried away even though he really wanted to drag Jack off and have his wicked way with him.

“Well,” Jack gasped when Ianto eventually pulled away, “I missed you too, gorgeous.”

“I can tell,” the dragon murmured, moving his thigh just enough to rub against Jack’s burgeoning erection.

“You do that again,” his mate growled, “and I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Smirking, Ianto stepped completely away. 

“Tease,” Jack accused, although his eyes were fond.

“And that’s why you love me.”

“One of the reasons, yeah…”  Jack cleared his throat, turning toward their audience.  Standing beside the Delaware family vehicle was Patrick, along with Clint, Steven, and Alice holding little Gracie.  He hadn’t seen them in months, and all Ianto wanted to do was stride across the cracked tarmac and hug each and every one of them.

But there was something that needed to be done first.

“Is he in there?” Jack asked, jerking his head toward the _Sky Gypsy,_ the twin engines of the de Havilland Dragon Rapide idling down, propellers slowly coming to a halt. 

Ianto nodded.  “He’s nervous but hiding it.”

“We’re not telling him what happened,” Jack warned.  “His future self asked us not to.  It’s not time yet.”

The dragon nodded.  It made sense; this Phil Coulson didn’t need to be burdened yet by what he’d find out later.  And Ianto thought that whatever happened today was going to be hard enough without giving Coulson something else to worry about; that didn’t even count what the months would bring, with the rebuilding of SHIELD and keeping under the radar with HYDRA.

“Martha said there were a few alien bits in his DNA,” Jack continued.  “I’m guessing those markers came from whatever the hell was done to bring him back.  I’m also guessing it’s gonna be those bits and pieces that are going to lead him to realise just what he’s become.”

“Owen’s already making noises about tests and medical records,” Ianto replied.  “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Phil finds out from what Owen discovers.”

“He better not cut Martha out of the loop,” Jack laughed. “She’ll be pissed.”

“I also sensed a form of magic within him,” Ianto added.  He made a mental note to get some advice on that particular subject from someone more knowledgeable than himself; perhaps a visit out to Estelle’s would be in order.

“Hart mentioned magic as part of what made him immortal,” Jack admitted.  “The only thing I can think of would be from the so-called staff that Loki killed him with.”  He sounded unsure, but then Ianto knew that, no matter what had happened in the years since they’d met, Jack still had trouble acknowledging that magic actually existed.  Having it come from the likes of John Hart probably made it worse.

“Uncle Phil!” Steven’s voice rang out.  Ianto glanced over Jack’s shoulder to see his grandson running full tilt out toward the _Sky Gypsy,_ the adults following at a much slower pace.

Ianto turned on his heel just in time to see Phil catch the excited teenager in a fierce hug, and with his better than average eyesight the dragon thought he caught the glitter of tears in the man’s eyes as Steven hugged back.

Ianto leaned over and whispered into Jack’s ear, “You have any idea how much of a catastrophe this is going to be?”

“No clue, although I think Clint’s going to be the soft touch in the group,” Jack whispered back. He took Ianto’s hand.  “Let’s give them all a little privacy.”  His mate tugged Ianto toward the car, purposely putting both their backs to what was undoubtedly going to be a rather fractious family reunion.

Ianto looked back as they reached the car; he could just make out Diane in the cockpit, attempting to ignore what was going on just outside the plane’s door.  He felt a bit bad for her, having to pretend not to know what was happening, but at the same time he was certain the story would be around the Hub within fifteen minutes of them getting back to Cardiff.  Plus, she should have left the plane the same time Ianto had if she’d wanted to avoid the upcoming messiness.

Judging from body language alone, Ianto couldn’t make up his mind who would break first.  Patrick stood next to Alice, leaning forward almost belligerently, but there weren’t any raised voices which was a good thing.  Clint was slightly apart, arms crossed, his eyes on Phil as the man talked, one arm around Steven as if Phil were afraid to let the teenager go.  He didn’t know where Jack was coming from about Clint being the “soft touch” because it certainly didn’t look that way to him.  If it was anyone who would forgive first, he would have thought it was Patrick, who was quick to anger but also quick to get over it, especially where family was concerned.

However, it was Alice who stepped forward and promptly handed Gracie over to her great-uncle.  Phil looked surprised but accepted the toddler readily, who seemed perfectly fine being held by a stranger.  A small hand tangled itself up in the man’s jacket lapel, and Phil didn’t seem to mind at all, making a funny face at her that warred with the man’s usual dignified appearance.  Gracie’s giggle could be heard across the open tarmac.

Two Delawares won over, it seemed.

Jack hummed, bringing Ianto’s attention back to him.  “I don’t think I was expecting that, knowing Alice’s temper.  She was pretty angry when Patrick told her about Phil really being alive.”

“She also knows the value of family,” Ianto pointed out.  “She’s still upset, but she’s willing to listen.”

“Since when did you start knowing my daughter better than me?” Jack joked.

That didn’t even deserve an eye roll.  “Since I had to move to Glasgow for years and we began Skyping each other over the sub-wave.”

Jack shook his head, smiling.  But one glance toward the plane had him sobering.  “I wonder what’s going to happen once Phil comes out of hiding along with the new SHIELD he’s building.”

“No idea,” the dragon answered.  “But they’ll be as safe as they can be here.  The Queen has assured him of that.”

He’d spoken to Her Majesty after the Hub had come out of lockdown – Jack had lifted the lockdown when he’d been in Cardiff to check on the place where future Phil and Clint had been held – and she’d been delighted at the turn of events.  She’d requested a meeting with the new Director of SHIELD, and Phil had scheduled it for tomorrow.  Ianto knew that she wasn’t going to offer anything but assurance of protection and a safe haven for any SHIELD agent who wished it, but her support would be invaluable with the rebuilding of the organisation, and having a place where persecuted agents and their families could live would be one more thing Phil wouldn’t have to worry about.

However, Ianto also knew that Her Majesty was hoping that some of the former agents would come to work for Torchwood.  The expansion hadn’t been as quick as she’d hoped; it was nearly halfway through her ten-year plan, and she was a touch frustrated at the slowness that bogged down what she’d requested them to accomplish.  Oh, she knew it wasn’t Jack’s fault; it hadn’t been that simple recruiting especially with the wait they’d had to have with the last of UNIT’s Black Archives and the mess that had been Torchwood House as well as the occasional invasion.  Even with the help from SHIELD before it fell, it had taken far longer to get the archive ready than it should have.   

“Why can’t I escape the thought that HYDRA kinda did us a favour?” Jack mused.

“I…can’t argue with that,” Ianto conceded.  While they’d had a fairly strong alliance with the old SHIELD, the new one would be run by a member of their family, even if Phil wasn’t related by blood.  He couldn’t help but think the ties between the two organisations could only be stronger because of it. 

Plus there would be the displaced former agents, who might decide to join Torchwood instead of going back to SHIELD.  This could create a growth spurt within Torchwood, which could only play into Her Majesty’s plans. 

Goddess, Ianto really did hate politics, even if he was fairly good at navigating through them.

“Still,” Jack went on, “I don’t have any problem with making HYDRA pay if it comes down to it.”

Ianto turned once again to the group by the plane, tucking himself into Jack’s side as he did so.  As Jack’s arm went around him, he couldn’t help but wonder just what sort of future the immortal Phil Coulson had come from.  What had happened to him, and Jack…were they still running Torchwood?  Because it had been obvious that Torchwood still existed just from the inferences that had been made, so Ianto was very curious to find out. 

Well, he supposed he’d find out eventually. 

Even if he had to get there the long way round.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

**_5 February 5114_ **

**_Ddraig Llyn_ **

 

****

The yellow glow in the middle of the room was the only indication Anwyn had that someone was arriving via time travel.

She had her gun out before she realised who it was.

The weight in her chest – not related to her injuries – lifted at once as she recognized the man who had appeared in the Harkness-Jones lounge.  The smile tugged at the bruise on her cheek as she put her weapon back in its holster and practically threw herself at him.  “Uncle Phillip!” she exclaimed, relief slamming through her even as she slammed into her adopted uncle.

Arms went around her, and Phillip Pendragon sighed into her hair.  “I’m so glad you’re alright. I thought…”

“Just bruises and a bum shoulder.”  She pulled away, checking him for injuries.  She noted the damaged cast on his left wrist, and frowned. 

“I’m fine,” he answered, but there was a shadow in his eyes that Anwyn didn’t like.

She didn’t have time to ask, however.  Her Tad was suddenly beside her, and he reached out to grasp Uncle Phillip by the shoulder.  “Welcome back,” he said warmly.

“It’s good to be back,” Phillip said.  “How bad were things here?”

“Pretty bad,” Jack replied, coming to stand with them as well.  Mere minutes before Uncle Phillip had reappeared, he’d regained his colour and his normal, boisterous personality.  “Whatever was going on in the past was affecting both me and Merlin –“

“I’m fine now, Granddad,” Merlin’s voice interrupted.  Both he and Arthur were standing on the stairs leading up to the upper floors of the house, and the sorcerer looked a little worse for wear but the smile on his face was just as wide as it usually was.

“It was Juno Bayl,” Uncle Phillip explained.  “He decided that kidnapping me and exposing me to my past self would be a really good idea.”

Both Jack and Ianto were nodding, but Anwyn was confused.  “And just how is that a good idea to _anyone_?” she demanded.

“He wanted to take me out of the timeline,” he explained as Merlin and Arthur also joined them.  “He thought the best way to do that was to remove me from history completely.  I’m not sure if it would have worked…”

“It would have,” Merlin said.  His arm was around his mate, and he was leaning a bit against Arthur.  “That much energy expended when the two of you met…even your immortality wouldn’t have been any sort of protection.”

“And the level of paradox that would have caused…” Jack shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” Anwyn said, “I get that it would cause a paradox if Uncle Phillip were suddenly removed from history.”  She did; she was well aware of everything that he’d done behind the scenes over the centuries he’d been Grand Master of the Shieldsmen, and even before.  “And I also get just how bad it would be.  But why would someone – someone even as crazy as Bayl – want to even do something like that?”

“He thought if he removed one of Torchwood’s primary allies it would make for a weaker Torchwood,” Phillip answered, “one that wouldn’t be able to take down the Time Agency.”

Her Dad snorted.  “He must have been so busy trying to track down just who Phillip Pendragon really was that he didn’t even check on his own agency’s history.”

Anwyn knew her own confused look matched those belonging to both Arthur and Merlin. 

“I was the one who suggested creating the Time Agency in the first place,” Phillip clarified.  “Taking me out of history would have meant the Time Agency never would have existed in the first place.”  He glanced over at Arthur and Merlin.  “Why do you think I was so behind the disbanding of the Agency in the first place when Merlin wanted to do it? I’d seen what it had become.  Plus, I had certain information that you both didn’t have…in that the Time Agency would be disbanded anyway.  Of course, Jack and Ianto knew that as well, but since their retirement they didn’t have the ears of the Imperial Council like I did.  And it didn’t hurt that Council Leader Smith-Sullivan is a personal friend…”

Anwyn shook her head, laughing.  “So he was creating an even bigger paradox by targeting you.  That sounds about par for the course.”

“That’s not even counting the fact that Torchwood probably wouldn’t even exist now if he’d succeeded,” Ianto added.  “No Time Agency…no Agent Boe.  No Agent Boe…no Jack Harkness.”

“No Jack Harkness,” Phillip continued, “no Torchwood…at least as it is now.  And how many times has Torchwood protected the planet Earth, and beyond?  Bayl wasn’t thinking.  He was simply out for revenge on what he believed was a wrong done him.”

“Where is Bayl?” Arthur asked.

“I nicely asked Captain Hart to deliver him back to prison.  He didn’t want to at first, but I convinced him.”  He looked smug.  “Did you really have to send him back?  I was perfectly able to get myself out of trouble.  He also thinks it’s a good idea to call you Queenie, by the way.  What your sister, Cadi, sees in him I honestly don’t know.”

She couldn’t hide the frustrated noise she made to that comment, but decided there were more important things to discuss.  “Well…”  Anwyn looked over at her Tad, who nodded.  “If you must know…Franklin told us to send him.”

Phillip frowned.  “I’m sorry…but what does your brother have to do with it?”

“We aren’t really sure,” Ianto admitted.  “He claimed to have been there…and then he told us to send Hart and left.”

“He seemed really adamant about it,” Anwyn added.  “And what did it hurt?  It also freed you up to come straight home.”

“Well, not exactly…I took a detour to take the Cardiff Hub off lockdown.”  Phillips smiled sadly.  “I’d forgotten how the Plass used to look until I was actually standing on it…”

Jack laughed.  “I seem to recall that Ianto and I always did wonder who’d released the Hub from lockdown!”

“You remember now?” Anwyn asked.

“Kinda,” her Dad admitted.  “The memories are blurry, just like they were centuries old…which they are so that makes sense.  But they’re there, so time definitely has settled into whatever path it needed to be in.” He stared at Phillip.  “And just how do you have those old codes anyway?”

“Someone handed me their wrist strap as he borrowed the working one I’d taken from Bayl,” Phillip admitted. “It didn’t take much to find them.  I’m…not even sure why I looked, only that I doubted you’d release the Hub while I was still in the timeline, Jack.  And I just had to see old Cardiff…” His expression turned wistful, and Jack grabbed onto his shoulder in a show of comfort. 

“So much lost,” Ianto lamented, and Anwyn put her good arm around his waist, her fingers meeting her Dad’s at the centre of Tad’s back.

“Enough of this,” Jack proclaimed.  “Phillip, we need to get that arm checked out and get you some decent clothes to wear.”  His eyes raked up and down the wrinkled blue outfit Uncle Phillip was wearing.  “That’s not your usual style.”

Phillip held up the bag he’d been carrying.  “My uniform is in here.  Of course Torchwood in the past had to test everything.  I had to make up a false cult in order to keep them from finding my scar, just in case they added things up.”

“They returned them in a plastic bag?” Ianto huffed.  “Really?”

“Well, to be fair they didn’t know that this sort of plastic wasn’t made anymore,” Phillip said, “Although I did point out that it’s worth a bit of money now…at least to collectors.”

“But Uncle,” Anwyn said, “what about Franklin?  He said he was there, back in time.  How could he be?”

“I don’t know, but if he was I didn’t notice.”

“That’s because you didn’t know what to look for.”

The entire group spun in order to pinpoint the voice that had just spoken.  Franklin was standing just inside the house, fidgeting from foot to foot, his eyes restless and not focusing on anyone. 

It was Phillip who broke the sudden silence.  “Clint?” he whispered, his face going pale.

“What?” Anwyn exclaimed, echoed by her fathers.  She wanted to say that it was Franklin, her wanderlust consumed younger brother, and that it wasn’t this Clint person that her uncle was clearly thinking of.

Franklin smiled shyly.  “Hey, Phil.”

“Oh Goddess,” Jack whispered. 

“Why didn’t we see it before?” Ianto replied, almost at the exact same time.

“Because the memories weren’t set yet,” Franklin answered.  “And I made sure I wasn’t around all that much so nothing would trigger them before it was time.” He looked guilty. 

“Can someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Anwyn demanded.  She hated being left out of the loop and was perfectly able to maim anyone who didn’t answer her question.

“I wouldn’t mind an explanation, either,” Arthur added softly, which meant he was as put out as Anwyn was.

“Your brother,” Ianto said, his mouth quirking upward in a disbelieving yet happy smile, “appears to be the reincarnation of an old teammate of mine and your Dad’s.” He pulled away from the group, walking up to Franklin.  “Hello, Clint,” he greeted, pulling him into a hug. 

Anwyn’s eyebrows went up.  Well, this was certainly a day of surprises.  First, her uncle had been kidnapped by a time travelling maniac, and now the younger brother she’d known and loved for over sixteen hundred years was actually the reincarnation of a long-dead Torchwood employee…

Well, she’d certainly seen stranger things.

Ianto pulled away, hands resting on both of Franklin’s shoulders.  “Why didn’t you say anything before?” he asked gently. 

“We could have helped or something,” Jack added, joining them.

“I had to wait,” Franklin replied.  “When I started regaining my old life’s memories, I got a visitation from you-know-who,” he jerked his head toward the lake, “who informed me that certain things had to happen before I could reveal myself.  The last of those was Phillip Pendragon’s kidnapping and return.”  Tension was bleeding out of him slowly.  “I just couldn’t stay around, knowing what I did and not being able to tell anyone in my family.”

“That’s why you’re always gone,” Arthur said. 

“Yeah.  I couldn’t risk anyone recognising me before it was time, but I couldn’t live with the secret, either.”

It was Anwyn’s turn to hug him.  She’d always loved her brother, but hadn’t gotten to know him all that well after he’d left to go off on his own.  It was wasted time, and she regretted it, but she could understand in a way, carrying such a big secret.  “It’s fine, Frankie,” she murmured.  Then she pulled away.  “Or should I call you Clint now?”  Every person she’d met who’d reincarnated always preferred to be called by their original name. 

“I’ve been Franklin for a long time,” he chuckled.  “Call me whatever you want, I’m sure I’ll answer to anything.”

It was Anwyn’s turn to laugh.  “So I can call you idiot and you’ll know it’s you?”

“Hey, now!” he protested. 

Franklin released her, his eyes raising to look over her shoulder.  Anwyn turned, watching her uncle take several tentative steps toward them.  Just behind him, Arthur and Merlin were both wearing twin expressions of confusion on their faces and Anwyn just knew it was because of Phillip’s reaction. 

And then, Franklin was pushing past her, and as Anwyn stood there her brother was suddenly grabbing Phillip and dragging him into his arms, his entire body shaking.  “Oh Goddess,” he moaned.  “I’ve missed you so much…”

Phillip’s eyes closed as he held on just as tightly.  “ _Clint_ ,” he muttered brokenly.

“Oh,” Jack said, tugging Anwyn toward the hug her fathers were sharing, “by the way, Phillip and Clint were lovers back in the day.”

“Which just happened to be the 21st century,” Ianto added, “where Phillip has just been.”

Anwyn couldn’t help the dopey grin that pulled her cheek painfully, but it didn’t matter.  While she hadn’t seen her uncle as much as she would have liked, she’d always felt that there was something missing, a part of him that he’d lost but just hadn’t realised it.  Now she thought she had it figured out.  “So I’d guess that Uncle Phillip going back in time was a way to remind him of what he’d had?”

“Nothing is coincidence,” Ianto said, shrugging.  “Humans weren’t meant to be immortal, and they have a tendency to lose their memories under the weight of all those centuries.  I’m not saying that Phillip ever completely forgot Clint, but a gentle reminder is always a good thing.”

“And it’s always a good thing to have someone by your side to help with those old memories,” Jack added, giving his mate a fond smile.

“Get outside!” Arthur suddenly ordered.

Anwyn startled at the shout.  Turning, she saw exactly why her son had been so adamant.

Franklin’s body was glowing.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end of this particular story. Thanks to everyone who read it, you really are quite fantastic. Now I have to decide, of the three stories I have in the planning stage, which one is next. 
> 
> I won't be posting anything until after I get back from Gally. I'm so excited, I finally get to meet John Barrowman! The noises I've been making have only been heard by the dogs in my neighborhood!

 

**_5 February 5114_ **

**_Ddraig Llyn_ **

 

 

Before anyone could react, Franklin was out the door, Phillip hot on his heels.  Her parents followed, and Anwyn could practically feel the joy rolling off them.  She was just behind with Arthur and Merlin, and her son linked his arm through her good one.  “Guess this means Cousin Franklin is finally getting his dragon form,” Arthur quipped, his voice warm with happiness.

“It’s about time,” Anwyn concurred.  “But this means I’m not going to be able to call Uncle Phillip “Uncle Phillip” anymore, since he’s now Franklin’s mate.” That would take some getting used to.

The sun was just going down behind the mountains as they made their way outside and down toward the lake.  Franklin had managed to get most of the way to the placid water before the change had overwhelmed him; crouched on the grass was a handsome purple dragon, blue-green eyes wide with surprise.  He raised one leg, examining the purple scales and then the sharp claws; then he unfurled his wings and, with a shout full of joyful laughter, Franklin launched himself upward, catching the wind currents over the lake.

“It just had to be purple,” Phillip sighed, but there was a smile in his words that gave away the teasing.

Jack and Ianto both changed into their dragon forms and jumped into the sky, following their eldest son as Franklin took to the air for the very first time.  Anwyn whooped, triggering her own change, and she could feel the magic of Arthur’s transformation at her back as she joined her family as they swooped over the valley that was their ancestral home.

Franklin was a bit wobbly at first, but with coaching he picked up flying very quickly.  The five flyers were soon joined by little William, James, and Oswyn, as well as Emlyn and Sabrina, the two other siblings currently in Ddraig Llyn; they’d been looking after the young ones, not wanting them to be worried about their Dad being ill.  Several times Anwyn caught a glimpse of the shore; Phillip was there, one hand protecting his eyes from the low-lying sun, but there was such a look of joy on his face that Anwyn couldn’t help but be happy as well.  Most of Ddraig Llyn had gathered, watching; it wasn’t often that so many of the family were out flying, let alone with a new dragon amongst them.

By the time everyone had landed, the crowd had thinned out and the sun had gone down.  Only Phillip, Merlin, Robyn, Lisa, and Alyce were left of the family. Twin orbs of magical light hovered over both Merlin’s and Phillip’s heads, illuminating the landing area; Merlin’s a golden colour, while Phillip’s a fiery blue.  Anwyn was a bit surprised to see it, since her uncle didn’t care to be reminded that he’d also gained magic as a result of his death, but perhaps things had changed enough now for him to embrace more of that power that had been an inadvertent gift from a mad Norse God who’d only meant him harm.

Lisa had managed to clamber up and drape herself over Phillip’s shoulders, looking quietly pleased with herself; her uncle was out of those horrid blue clothes and had regained a bit of his normal decorum by putting on his usual black ensemble, giving the young dragon more to grasp onto as she clung to him.  Merlin was holding Robyn close to his waist, the gold of her scales glittering against his red shirt.  Alyce was standing between the two men, looking amazed as the dragons all landed around them.  “I can’t wait to be able to do that,” the little girl whispered in awe.

“I can’t wait until I’m not afraid anymore,” Robyn added sadly.

Merlin rested his free hand on Alyce’s head and hugged Robyn closer.  “Someday,” he promised them both.

Anwyn triggered her change, grinning at her son’s mate’s care with her youngest sisters.  Merlin was going to be a wonderful father, of that she had no doubt.

The rest of the family also changed, including Franklin.  His face was flushed with excitement and he was practically vibrating with happiness.  The golden glow hadn’t even settled yet before he was pulling Phillip – and Lisa, who had no choice but to be reeled in as well – toward him and was kissing him within an inch of his life.

Sabrina was grinning.  “It’s about time Franklin found a mate,” she commented, leaning against her older sister, Emlyn.

“Who won the pool?” Emlyn asked.

Anwyn laughed.  “I’m not sure, but I think it was Gareth.”

“Wait,” Ianto inserted himself into the conversation, “you’ve all been betting on your brother’s love life?”

“And you didn’t give your dads odds?” Jack pouted.

Anwyn rolled her eyes playfully.  “C’mon, you both would have given us a lecture on the evils of wagering on family members and their chances of getting a mate and then confiscated the money.” She was teasing, of course.  She knew exactly what they both would have done: joined the pool and then done something to arrange it to fall in one of their favours.

“I’m disappointed in you, Anwyn,” Ianto sighed, shaking his head.

“What did we do wrong when we raised her?” Jack moaned, putting a hand to his heart in mock despair.

“I happen to think she turned out just right,” came Phillip’s voice from just behind Anwyn.  He joined them, Franklin’s arm around his waist, Lisa now draped across them both.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her brother this happy.

But then, she didn’t see Franklin all that often.  Perhaps now that the truth was out, that would change.

“Well, that was a surprise,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah, for me too,” her brother admitted.  “I’d hoped…but well…”

“Congratulations, the pair of you,” Jack said warmly.  “It’s good that you can officially call yourself a member of the family now, Phillip.”

“Thank you,” Phillip replied, his own smile smaller but no less warm.  “And that brings me to the question Anwyn came to ask me, about taking over Torchwood.”

“And what have you decided?” Arthur asked, stepping into the circle of the conversation.

“I’ll admit,” Phillip said, “but when Anwyn came to ask me, I was going to say no.  I’ve been feeling cut off from everyone for a long time now, and wasn’t certain if I could ever re-join the family again.  But now…” He looked over at Franklin, his expression more than just fond, “I’ve realised that it’s time for Phillip Coulson to come back…to come home.”

Ianto was grinning.  “Phillip, this has always been your home.  I’m just sorry we didn’t make that clear to you.”

“I need to finish the investigation into Bayl’s infiltrating the Throneworld, because he had to have had inside help to get past the teleportation shielding,” the Grand Master went on, “but once that’s done…I’ll turn over the Shieldsmen to Steve.  He’s been in my shadow long enough.  And then I’ll be more than willing to take over the Institute.  Besides,” he smirked, “it’s been a long time since I’ve gone by the title Director.  I think that’s the title that suits me best…don’t you?”

“We do,” Jack agreed. 

“And it’s about time I settle down,” Franklin added.  “I know Nicole and Nathan will be happy to know they have a steady home to come to.”

“I can’t wait to officially meet the twins,” Phillip said warmly.  “Are they going to be alright with me suddenly being a part of their lives?”

“Are you kidding?” Anwyn interrupted.  “They’ve both been trying to match-make Franklin for ages from what I understand.”

“Just let me and Merlin know when you’re ready to take over,” Arthur said.  “We’ll want to introduce you to Guinevere, who we’re recommending as your Second.  She’s been a tremendous help, even if she’s not available for about sixteen years every so often, until her latest reincarnation gets old enough to be hired back.”

“There are also codes and such that you’ll need to know,” Merlin added, his grin so large it looked as if it was threatening to split his cheeks. “We can get you prepared before Arthur gets too far along, since you’ve had this sort of experience for how long now?”

Anwyn noticed that the shadows that she’d always seen in her uncle were gone.  His eyes were bright, and if she looked just right she could see the blue flames of his personal magic flickering deep within them.  This was good; this was what he’d been missing all of those years that she’d known and loved him.  It seemed as if the part of him that was missing was now returned, and she believed that the bruises and her injured shoulder had been well worth the price of him finding the other half of himself that he apparently hadn’t known was gone until he’d been tossed back into the past.   

Anwyn couldn’t help but feel incredibly smug about her part in all this, even if it had been completely accidental.  All she’d wanted was a reason to convince her uncle to leave the Throneworld and be closer to home, to finally get him to admit that he needed his family as much as they needed him.  He’d been alone for so long…and Anwyn had needed to get him back.  She’d missed him; the man who’d taken care of her for practically the first ten years of her life, and who, at times, had been closer to her than her own parents. 

She didn’t at all regret her early life of absent fathers and nannies who didn’t quite understand the needs of a half-dragon, half-immortal child who was far too intelligent and spirited for most people to understand.  Uncle Phil _had_ understood her in a way her parents only had once she was old enough to fend for herself. 

Some would have called it ironic that Anwyn would have joined the same organisation that her taken her fathers and her childhood, but Torchwood was in the blood of all the Harkness-Joneses, as evidenced by her own son.  Of all of her brothers and sisters, only Franklin, Rowena, and Cadi hadn’t gone the Torchwood route, but with Phillip being the new Director of the Institute she could see that this might change with at least Franklin.  And there was no telling who of the little dragons or Alyce might join when they were old enough to make their own decisions.  As for Nathan and Nicole…now that Franklin would be settling down, the twins might very well wish to become Torchwood as well.

Well, that would be in the future.  This was the present, and it wasn’t a time for introspection. And she would never begrudge the decisions of her family; after all, she was as much Torchwood as any of them.

As they were heading back into the house, the unmistakable sound of time and space tearing itself apart echoed across the lake.

“He really needs to take the parking brake off,” Merlin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

It caused a round of laughter through the family.  “Merlin,” Jack chuckled, “your Dad is late…again.”

“It’s a good thing our people weren’t called the On-Time Lords,” the sorcerer groaned. 

“You’d better go and fetch him,” Ianto suggested.  “You and Arthur can share your news with him while I put the coffee on.”

“Right.” The pair of them peeled off from the group, heading toward the village green, where the Doctor was most likely to park his TARDIS.

Anwyn and the rest of the family made their way back to the family home, into the light and out of the night, to enjoy being with those they loved. 

And if she thought about planning some sort of party for Franklin and Phillip, well…only she’d know, right?  At least until she asked her Dad and Tad for help with the arrangements. 

Okay, maybe she’d just ask her Tad.  After all, Dad might have been excellent as Director or Torchwood, but he couldn’t plan a party if his immortality depended on it. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought everyone might be interested in seeing a list of Jack and Ianto's children in order of age, just to help anyone keep track, since there are so many of them... 
> 
> Anwyn  
> Rowena and Cadi  
> Franklin (Clint)  
> Gareth  
> Emlyn  
> Morgan  
> Alun  
> Sabrina  
> Kaitlyn  
> Pryce  
> The five orphans: James, Oswyn, William, Robyn, and Lisa  
> Alyce


End file.
